Rescue Me
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: When Mary Margaret mysteriously falls ill, Emma Swan, known in a previous life as Allison Cameron, contacts none other than House for help. Will he be willing to take the case? Can he save Mary Margaret before it's too late? After the 8th episode. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**House M.D.**_** Likewise, I do not own **_**Once Upon A Time.**_** Fox/ ABC owns these shows. If I did own them, Cameron would still be there on House (if only it did not compromise **_**Once**_**). **

A/N: So, this is technically my first story for _Once_, but not for _House._ I do have a one-shot for _Once_, but that's it. Since these are two of my favorite shows, I wanted to step up to the challenge of combining them, if only for fun. I repeat: _fun_.

Okay, so here's how it is: Emma is in fact the one and only Allison Cameron (Emma of course being her birth name…duh). When Mary Margaret falls ill, there is only one person Cameron (Emma) is willing to turn to for help. Will House take the case? Will he figure out what's wrong with Mary Margaret in time?

By the way, I plan to have as much fun combining these two shows as possible—just a warning. Wilson will make a brief appearance and (I haven't really been watching the 8th season so…) I will be using Thirteen/Taub/Chase for his team. Another warning: I am a Hameron fan. There might be some hinting of this…and maybe some slight Gemma as well (hehe).

Takes place right after the 8th episode (actually, before the last scene in the episode) and may contain spoilers. This first chapter, however, takes place some time in the past. Sorry for the long note; I just figured I should clear some things up now. Enjoy reading!

"_**Rescue Me"**_

_**Chapter One**_

Midnight. Bar. Drink.

Numbness. Being numb meant not feeling pain. It was her only wish tonight as she swallowed back the burning alcohol. Pain. Tears. Longing. Alone.

To be loved and happy—it was not in the cards for her. Oh, how she wanted to be loved. More tears. Third drink.

Aching. Cut. Dying inside. Breathe in.

"Keep crying and you can probably refill your own glass instead of paying their lousy prices." That voice. In her mind? No, beside her. A man. Not her husband. Confusion. Anger.

"Excuse me?" Blue eyes, not brown. Cane. No ring.

"Oh, sorry. Don't mind me. I'm here for the women and alcohol just like everyone else." Sarcasm. Cold. "Funny thing, alcohol. One of the easiest ways to relieve pain." Orange bottle. Pills. Swallowed, no drink. No alcohol.

"Why else would anyone decide to drink?" Her words slurred, eyes bloodshot. World spinning. All a blur. Tired.

"Oh, there's plenty of reasons, including stupidity. Pain is just the predominate one."

"Who are you?" Simple question. Guarded eyes. Reluctance.

"You know, two people can easily find comfort without names. Happens all the time." A Stranger. Nobody. No meaning.

A drink. Tempting. Intelligent blue eyes. _Snap, snap. _

"Another drink for the attractive crying woman." Attractive. Crying. Woman. Interesting.

"Sir, I just cut her off. No more drinks." Annoying bartender. Bald, muscles, deep voice. Pain returning. Need to forget.

"Yeah, yeah. Haven't we all? Another. Now." _Snap, snap. _Bartender gone. Fourth drink. Relief. No pain.

"Thank you." Mumble. Did Stranger hear? Fourth drink gone. Numbness.

"Don't thank me yet. You're still in pain." Pain. Longing. "What's your problem? Boyfriend dump you 'cause you wouldn't give him the goods? Divorce?" Wrong, wrong. Sadness. Memory. Death.

"My husband died tonight." Husband, no more. Tears. Comfort from Stranger? Unlikely.

"Pity. And when I say 'pity', I mean pity for you. Dying's easy. Pain is hard." Orange bottle. Shaking, pills rattling. Pity?

"Pity for me…but not for you, right?" Stranger, there. Available. Broken, cut. Just like her.

"Absolutely. Dying changes everything. You don't want to feel pain yet you're unwilling to substitute your husband's love for—" Cut off. Kiss. Surprise. Stranger kissing back. No pain. Longing. Intensity. Pulling away…

"See what I mean? We'll take the check. Now." White slip. Money. Stumbling. Door. Car. Stranger driving.

Motel. Room 312. Elevator. Kissing. No more memories.

Room 312. Darkness. Together. No stopping. Kissing. Touching. Caressing. Intensity. Falling, bed.

Two becoming one. Not alone. Not a Stranger. She was his. Not afraid.

No regret. No pain.

Passionate. Bliss.

…

And yet I have missed some details in my author's note…typical. (=

Before anyone tells me that many of the phrases in this chapter were disjointed and fragmented…that is the point. I'm trying to make it seem as if she is (more than a little bit) drunk, so her thought process follows accordingly.

On a side note, most of this chapter was inspired by the song "Cut" by Plumb. I actually used pieces of the lyrics in there or similar wording.

Thank you for those who have taken the time to read this—I greatly appreciate it.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own _House_, nor do I own _Once Upon A Time. _They belong to Fox and ABC respectively.

A/N: The second chapter is here and it is one in which we cue the dramatic House theme! Again, takes place before the last scene in _Desperate Souls_. I tried giving a bit of background as to how Cameron/Emma fit together and I will add more detail as the story goes on.

Enjoy!

**Ten Years Later…**

The former Allison Cameron, birth name Emma Swan, awoke with a splitting headache.

Last night, she had only had three drinks. Or had it been more? It could very well be the reason for her strange dream. It was fuzzy and slipping through her fingers already. _Okay, Sheriff. Up and at 'em. _

After the disaster with Chase, she had moved to Boston to seek a new hospital job, only to have that old desire to locate her long lost biological parents.

There was no way she'd consider her first foster family her "parents", not when they returned her at age three and had a boy of their own. The Camerons.

The days of being a doctor were shattered by the mess she had left behind in New Jersey. She was good at finding people, as she discovered. It was just her parents she could never find, but it depended on who you asked.

Sheriff. Emma still could not believe the recent events of Storybrooke, despite the gleaming new badge on her hip. Sadness for Graham overwhelmed her—he had been much too young with so much ahead of him.

House had been right all those years ago: she certainly had a problem with damaged people. It was a complex of hers, to try to fix the broken pieces even when she knew it would be a hopeless effort. She herself was broken and there was no fixing that.

To her disliking, Mr. Gold was never far from her mind. It figured that she had to get involved with one of Storybrooke's most dangerous residents—aside from Regina, of course. The idea that he might have planned the outcome of the events only served to unnerve her even more. What other twisted, mysterious imaginings were lurking inside the dealmaker's head?

The sound of a door closing alerted her and she strode into the kitchen to find Mary Margaret, juggling two brown paper bags of groceries. The room spun for a moment, but Emma righted herself before her roommate could notice.

"Good morning, Sheriff," her roommate cheerily greeted her. Mary Margaret set the bags on the kitchen table and smiled at Emma. Emma's hand lightly traced the badge.

"Please don't. I'm still processing the idea of it," Emma replied. Mary Margaret, already dressed in a simple collared dress and cardigan, laughed.

"You deserve it, Emma. The way you stood up to Mr. Gold…Oh, here. Something to eat?" From one of the bags, Mary Margaret revealed two red apples. One she held close to her chest, the other she extended out to Emma.

"No, thanks. Maybe later." Mary Margaret's green eyes flashed with concern, but she replaced Emma's apple in the bag. Quietly, Mary Margaret took a generous bite out of her own apple and placed a delicate finger against her lips in thought.

"I think Graham would have been happy to know you've made Sheriff." A sad look crossed her roommate's face while Emma simply sighed. That was a sore topic she would rather avoid.

"Let's not talk about Graham, alright?" Emma distracted herself by throwing on her favorite red leather jacket. Her style had certainly improved since her days at the hospital.

Those were days she shoved into the back of her mind and never wanted to return to. What would Mary Margaret say if she told her that lovely fairy tale?

"Emma…" She turned, a questioning look in her eyes. That wall of hers was standing strong, just in case. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you ever want to talk." Mary Margaret was sincerely worried for her and it made Emma uncomfortable.

"Aren't you supposed to be getting ready?" It was nearly seven o'clock. Mary Margaret was a teacher at Henry's school, a job that the woman dearly loved.

"Emma, it's a Saturday," Mary Margaret informed her kindly, offering her a sympathetic look. Dropping her eyes, she took another substantial bite out of the apple.

"Oh, right," Emma mumbled, feeling foolish. Mary Margaret got the hint and began to leave, but stopped to stare strangely at her apple. "What?"

"This apple…I think it's rotten," Mary Margaret said, tossing the remaining bit into the trash bin. _That's funny, _Mary Margaret thought but did not voice her concerns. _Here I figured the Mayor's apples would be good and fresh. _

Apple forgotten, Mary Margaret swept out of the room, humming a merry tune. It sounded an awful lot like that Snow White song—_Someday My Prince Will Come. _How convenient.

A horrible feeling about the apple slid down Emma's back, but she shook it off. If she wasn't careful, Emma was sure she might buy into Henry's theory of fairy tales.

Sighing, she grabbed her keys, said goodbye to Mary Margaret, and prepared for her first official day as Storybrooke's new sheriff, hangover and all.

….

It was nearly four in the evening, judging by the clock on the kitchen wall. Mary Margaret found she was unable to get David out of her head, so she occupied herself with baking. She actually had quite a knack for it, a tray of rich chocolate chip cookies already cooling on the table.

Stirring the cookie dough, Mary Margaret slipped into a fantasy of David. She imagined how bright blue his eyes were and how they sparkled like jewels whenever they laid to rest on her. His smile was warm and friendly and those lips…_What am I doing? He chose Kathryn. _

_Perhaps some tea will help calm my nerves,_ she thought, making her way to set up the kettle.

As she waited for it to heat up, Mary Margaret wiped up the extra cookie dough on the counter. Cleaning was always a specialty of hers; she was almost as good at it as she was with teaching her children.

_Even my hands are covered with dough, _she thought wistfully as she headed for the bathroom to wash up. _Hopefully Emma likes the cookies. She deserves a break, too. _

A sudden upset ran through her stomach and she pressed a hand there. Clearly, something did not agree with her. Was it that morning's apple? It had looked rotten, with flecks of discolored bits. _ The tea should help it, _she hoped, listening for the whistle of the kettle.

Mary Margaret splashed some cool water on her face and then gazed at herself in the mirror. Quite recently, she'd gotten the sensation that the person she saw in the mirror wasn't really her. A strange thought, but she could not shake it. _Oh, my head…_

Black spots danced in front of her eyes and the room swayed for a moment. Falling to her knees, Mary Margaret breathed in deeply until the spots vanished. Dizziness? The apple didn't cause that…

_Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…._

The air sounded raspy in her throat and then became trapped altogether. The muscles in her throat clenched tight and Mary Margaret was unable to take in a decent breath. Her chest heaved and her eyes seemed to boggle out of her head.

Desperately, her fingers scrambled across her throat, only to feel the tightness of the muscles there. _I…can't…breathe…_

The room spun wildly as Mary Margaret's head connected with the bathroom floor. Distantly, the kettle whistled angrily, but it was lost against the pounding of the blood in her ears. _Can't…breathe…why…_

The bathroom door slammed open and jammed against Mary Margaret's foot. Her vision was blurry—all she could see was a moving figure and streaks of gold. _Emma…_

"Mary Margaret! Can you hear me?" Those green eyes, so similar to her own, were hovering above her. Emma was worried. Mary Margaret wished she could answer, but there was no air…

Despite the lack of oxygen, Mary Margaret continued to feel everything. Fire raced up her arms and clogged her chest. It was a sensation akin to someone pouring battery acid over her skin. _It's burning…_

_Help…help..._

Hearing gone, her other senses were soon to follow. Tendrils of shadows spiraled around her vision, closing in on her. The fire was too much. Mary Margaret struggled for a weak breath-

In seconds, the world became filled with darkness.

**Oh, no! What's wrong with MM? You'll have to wait and see! (= A lot of good stuff is coming up soon. Plenty of good stuff. **


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own _House _or _Once Upon A Time_. They belong solely to Fox and ABC.

A/N: Hello, all! Ooh, I've got some good twists for this story coming up. *Laughs evilly*

For right now, though, enjoy the third chapter. Reviews are always welcome-I like to know what the readers thnk about my story so far.

_**Chapter Three**_

Emma returned to the apartment around four o'clock, worn out and in need of a nice, warm drink.

For such a seemingly quiet town, Storybrooke had its fair share of trouble. Starting with a certain pawnbroker that Emma had rather avoid thinking about. That favor hung over her head like a boulder that would eventually crush her.

Her wish had been answered in the form of an angry tea kettle, the steam pouring out like a freight train. Emma hurried over to it and took it off the burner.

The scent of something burning reached her nose and she pulled open the oven to find a tray of crispy, blackened cookies. _Where the hell is Mary Margaret? _

That instinct was nudging her again—something was wrong.

Instantly, Emma dashed through the apartment, shouting her roommate's name to no avail. Certainly she wouldn't leave, what with a kettle on the stove and cookies in the oven. That wasn't like Mary Margaret at all.

The bedroom was vacant, the light switched off and everything else in its proper place. Emma's eyes trailed to the bathroom door, slightly ajar. Shoving into it, the door bounced back against a solid object; that object being Mary Margaret's foot. _Oh, God…_

"Mary Margaret! Can you hear me?" Emma bent over her roommate's still body. Immediately she checked her pulse; it was barely there.

Normally graced with a beautiful pink blush, her gentle face was ashen as snow. The cords in her throat were strung tight and her lips were becoming a ghastly, unhealthy shade of blue. _Oh my God…what has happened to her? Need to call for help…_

Digging out her phone, Emma called the Storybrooke hospital and reached Dr. Whale. Rushing, she filled him in and he'd assured her that he was on his way. Even so, the doctor sounded carefree and all too condescending.

Examining Mary Margaret, Emma noted the thick patches of red bumps and welts that had formed on Mary Margaret's arms and chest. Was she allergic to something? Emma couldn't recall the woman ever mentioning details…

Somehow, Emma's instinct—and perhaps some bias from her history as an immunologist—told her that these bumps weren't from an allergy. _What the hell is that about?_

Emma was about to put away her phone when another notion struck her. Nothing about this accident seemed right. Scrolling through her phone, Emma paused when she recognized one of the other names on her list of contacts. She had always been reluctant to remove the number, just in case something ever happened. _House…_

Was she even willing to open old wounds and involve him in this? _For Mary Margaret's sake,_ yes. Emma dialed the number before giving herself the opportunity to change her mind._ Ringing…ringing…_

"Come on, House. Pick up the damn phone," Emma muttered under her breath as she splashed icy water on Mary Margaret's face, hoping to arouse her. No luck, but there was still a pulse and it was stronger than a moment ago. _That's a good sign._ _Stay with me, Mary Margaret. _

House's pathetic answering machine droned in Emma's ear, followed by a shrill beep. Was House even off today? Was he home or at the hospital?

"House, if you're there, I need you to answer your phone," she practically shouted, concern for her roommate overwhelming her. Where the hell was Dr. Whale? The hospital wasn't that far away, not in a small town like this. _Hurry up, you bastard. _

"House, pick up! It's…it's Cameron. I have a case for you," she pleaded, then realized that the mention of a case would not cause him to pick up. In fact, that would only give him further reason to ignore the phone; she needed to catch his attention some other way.

"Do this for me. You owe me that much." _Hell, he owes me more than that, but I'll take what I can get, _she thought. Perhaps she should try Princeton-Plainsboro. She was about to hang up when-

"Cameron?" His gravelly voice, for once full of surprise, shot through her ear. There was a sharp knocking at the door—help had arrived. _Thank God,_ Emma sighed with relief as she let Dr. Whale in to tend to Mary Margaret.

Emma ducked out of the apartment for some privacy, double-checking that the door was firmly closed behind her. No way did she want Storybrooke's good doctor listening in on her conversation.

"As I said, I may need your help." Mentally she prepped herself-the House she knew would fight her and argue.

"You never mentioned needing my help. You said you had a case. Not interested." _Yes, that's the House I know. Always cynical. _

The apartment door had opened again and Dr. Whale was escorting Mary Margaret out on a stretcher. Briefly, he paused to watch Emma, his eyes questioning her. Holding the phone close to her ear, she gestured for him to go ahead and leave.

"Trust me, you'll be interested." At least, she hoped it would strike him as interesting. Right now, she simply required his help, if only because she did not trust the Mayor or Dr. Whale to give Mary Margaret the assistance she needed.

Silence on the other end. _Did he hang up? The nerve..._

"You expect _me_ to drive out to _Boston_ on my _day off_ to treat a patient that _you_ deem interesting?" There was skepticism dripping from his voice. "That doesn't sound like something I'd do."

_He won't do it,_ she understood. She was surprised to find disappointment plaguing her, but what else did she expect from someone like him? Disappointment was ultimately all she'd ever been able to find in him. Still, Emma had managed to lay the offer on the table-it was all that could be done.

"No, not Boston. Maine. Storybrooke, Maine. You better hurry, House."

…

**Uh-oh...will House take her case or not? You'll have to wait and see! (= I'll have the next chapter up soon. I'm actually in the process of writing a few chapters ahead. **

**Again, I want to thank those that are reading this right now. **

**And did you all hear that this season of House will be the last? I knew this news was coming soon, I just never imagined that House would ever end. It was a good show, though, wasn't it? **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**House **_**or **_**Once Upon a Time.**_** Would love to, but I don't. **

**A/N: Yay, this chapter is all about House! And Wilson shows up! (= How much better could this get? Read on and see...enjoy! **

**Chapter Four**

_Princeton-Plainsboro_

_4:30 p.m. _

_This should be against the law, _House thought bitterly as he contemplated the exact reason as to why he was walking-stratch that..._limping_-into work on his day off. The majority of it was due to his curiosity being peaked by Cameron's unexpected phone call.

Taking the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket, he paused at the elevator to pop two white pills in his mouth. Sharp pains shot up his leg at the mere memory of Cameron. At this rate, he would require plenty more Vicodin before the sun rose tomorrow morning.

"Wow. Never thought I'd see the day that Gregory House willingly walks into work on his day off," Wilson teased him lightly, brown eyes dancing with glee. House scrutinized him strangely. Wilson was practically bouncing on air.

"Either you just succeeded in getting another dying, crying cancer patient to sleep with you...or you're recently batting for the other team. I'm straight, by the way," House mocked his only friend.

Only Wilson could shrug the snide comments off like water on a duck. A sickeningly happy duck.

"House, despite your negative views and beliefs, there is nothing wrong with waking up in the morning and wanting to be happy," Wilson replied, arching his eyebrows.

"_Wanting _to be happy is one thing. Being happy is another." House jabbed at the elevator button insistently. Was the damn thing broken today or was God deliberately trying to make him miserable? _God has a horrible sense of humor, _he mused, tapping his cane impatiently. "Seriously, what's wrong with you?"

The number 4 above the elevator was dimly highlighted. With a low beep, it shifted to the number 3 and stayed there. Beside him, Wilson tilted his head upwards and shrugged.

"Believe it or not...nothing. I happen to have two tickets to the sold out monster truck rally," he announced enthusiastically and waited for a response from House. If he was searching for a sign of excitement, he would be disappointed. "Excellent seats and only worth-"

"Sorry, can't," House intercepted, kneading his fingers across his forehead. Another dull beep and the elevator had descended to the second floor.

Wilson had paused and was eyeing House oddly, almost sympathetically.

"That's it? I know you're not busy. You don't have any cases or girlfriends, for that matter. I also have it on good authority that you're broke, so no hookers. What other reason is there?"

"I'm going on vacation," House replied before his mind even decided to accept Cameron's case. What the hell was she even doing in Maine? "Can't this elevator move any faster? Some of us doctors have lives to save."

"Yes, most doctors here come into work wanting to save lives. You, House, only want to solve puzzles. Somehow I don't think God sees that as equally important," Wilson said, an amused grin on his face. "Where exactly are you planning on going?"

House sighed. There was no getting rid of Wilson on the best of days. This was _not _the best of days.

"Storybrooke, Maine. I hear the babes there are to die for," House offered, tapping his cane even more rapidly. _Tap, tap, tap. _If his leg wasn't killing him, he'd take his chances with his nemesis-the stairs.

Wilson's brow furrowed in confusion.

"House, _you're _going to _Maine_? What's in Maine that could possibly interest you?" Wilson questioned. House fought an internal battle. _To tell Wilson or not to tell Wilson-that is the question. _

"Oh, same old, same old. Boring case, Cameron, sick patient that needs curing," House ticked the items off on his fingers and prayed that Wilson would dismiss the second one. No such luck.

"Whoa, wait a minute. What was that?" Wilson's expression became one of shock and awe. His mouth was agape; to House, he could be the long lost twin of _The Scream_.

"When?" House feigned ignorance as the elevator finally reached the lobby, the silver doors sliding open noiselessly. Wilson stepped in front of House, blocking his path.

"Just then! What did you say?" House made a show of struggling to remember. Perhaps he could make the excuse that he fell down on his way here and had amnesia as a result. Would Wilson buy that?

"Sick patient?" House attempted to shift past Wilson, but the oncologist spread his arms wide.

"Before that."

"Boring case."

"Yes, but _after_ that. House," Wilson warned him with his "serious" tone. House sighed with frustration.

"Oh, you mean the part about Cameron. She called me. Apparently, she's lonely and wants to...what's the phrase? Hook up," House sarcastically explained, using his good side to shove past Wilson.

_End of conversation, _he thought, only to be dismayed when Wilson stepped onto the elevator with him.

"See, the whole point of me getting on the elevator was so you'd get the hint and walk away." The doors closed and the elevator lurched upwards.

"Being your only friend allows me to outsmart your evil plans, House." Wilson casually folded his hands across his torso. "Cameron didn't call because she misses you. She hates you," Wilson bluntly pointed out.

"That's not my fault. Blame the Aussie," House mumbled, leaning more heavily on his cane.

"Yes, it is. House, you ruined her marriage. Her only chance of happiness was wasted. Moving...starting over is how she copes."

Normally, House tuned out Wilson's meaningful lectures but even he had to admit there was some truth there. Wasn't he the first to claim that Cameron was broken?

The elevator dinged-they had reached the desired floor. House stumbled out of the elevator, Wilson easily keeping up with him. House tossed him an annoyed glance.

"Don't you have a dying patient to comfort? Like, _now_?" Wilson drew in a long breath and stalled. House sensed he was not going to like Wilson's next words.

"Maybe...maybe it's a sign. You're running out of chances for happiness, House," Wilson told him.

The two walked in the direction of House's office. For once, House willed his team to have a case ready for his consideration, so as to avoid this subject indefinitely.

"Yes, God is telling me to jump into bed with my Australian colleague's ex-wife. Very subtle up there!" House exclaimed towards the heavens. Wilson rolled his brown eyes.

"Have you ever considered that there might be more to it than simply...jumping into bed? For instance, a relationship?" The pair paused at House's office door and House gripped the handle as a hint to Wilson. The message: _go away. _

"My relationship with Cameron-"

"Was nonexistent. You went on one date that ended in a disaster. And you kissed...once," Wilson reminded him. Those memories were better left untouched.

Wilson held up his hands in surrender.

"All I'm saying, House, is that it might not hurt to make an effort. Talk to her. Reconcile with her. For God's sake, jump into bed with her. Just...don't screw it up. Or you will end up alone."

It was one of Wilson's favorite lectures and the one that House despised the most.

"Enjoy your monster trucks...alone," House grumbled. Wilson chuckled and flashed the two tickets from his back pocket.

"Oh, I'm not going alone. I just wanted to see if you'd be interested. I already asked that day nurse, Natalie. Turns out, she said _yes_," Wilson stated, pumping his fist into the air for victory. House shook his head-typical Wilson.

His lackeys were sitting all cozy inside. As he entered the office, his team glanced up in disbelief.

"Yo, peeps. We're taking a road trip."

...

**So House is going to Storybrooke!**

**How was that? By the way, I'd like to thank those that have given me reviews so far-I'm glad you're enjoying the story. **

**I am anticipating tomorrow's **_**Once**_** episode. Have you guys seen the sneak peeks for it? They are very good and now I am impatient for the episode! (-; **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**House **_**or **_**Once Upon a Time**_**, though I would absolutely jump at that chance. Who wouldn't? **

**A/N: Hello, readers! I got a lot of readers favoriting and alerting this story, which was good. Thanjk you for taking the time to read my story. **

**Now, this chapter might be slightly different. I plan to include little pieces of the FT world from time to time, mostly concerning the EQ poisoning Snow White (since the show has not shown it yet). I decided it might make this even more interesting. **

**With that in mind, enjoy the chapter! Reviews are always welcome! **

**Chapter Five**

It was 4:30 in the evening when Regina received the phone call from Dr. Whale. Mary Margaret Blanchard was being admitted to the hospital.

Not exactly a detail she expected, but she would have been lying if she insisted the young teacher's illness bothered her.

Everyone else would feel sympathy for the girl, but then those people were not aware of the damage Mary Margaret was capable of. How foolishly they believed her smile, how naive they were upon taking to heart her promises.

Mary Margaret—no, _Snow White, _damn her—deserved to suffer for all the misery and pain she had caused her. Her happiness shriveled, her ability to love dry as bone…

Sitting at her desk with her red lips pursed, a faint memory rose to the surface of Regina's mind. It eclipsed the sight of her well-kept office, the white forest wallpaper transforming into black stone…

….

_The Evil Queen paced restlessly before one of her magical mirrors, her black skirts whispering across the cold floor. The smooth glass depicted a scene: Snow White amidst a handful of pathetic dwarves, lurking somewhere in the forest. _

Senseless girl, _she sneered at the image of her delicate, fair skin and ebony hair. _Even now she is trapped under the delusion of security. It will not stay that way for long, _the Evil Queen vowed, oblivious to the crystalline tears trailing along Snow's rosy cheeks, the result of a broken heart. _

_ One of her black-armored guards announced the return of those two fatherless children. _Decent timing, _she thought, a malicious ruby-lipped smile gracing her face. _

_ With a wave of her hand, the scene in the mirror melted away, her glorious reflection now the only thing staring back at her. The guard escorted the boy and girl into the room, though they did not attempt to step further than the threshold. _

_ Immediately, the Evil Queen's fierce eyes locked onto the brown leather satchel, clasped between the girl's hands. How she longed to sweep across the room, to snatch it away and ease her mind that the weapon awaited its duties inside. _

_ As soon as it was safely in her hands, the Evil Queen carefully reached in to retrieve the item. The weight of that special item pressed into the palm of her welcoming hand._

_The sight of the apple was one to behold. So fresh, so crimson red that blood paled in significance, so mouth-watering that even the noblest men would fall to their knees in hunger for it. Of course, it was more than a simple apple and it was reserved for one person. _

_Stolen by that haggard Blind Witch, this apple would become her salvation against Snow White. Oh, what a powerful weapon it was. _

_Once presented to the naïve Snow White, the fugitive princess would not be able to resist taking a bite. _And so shall my misery reach its end…

…

It was a few minutes past eight and Emma had not moved from Mary Margaret's bed upon arriving, except for the occasional cup of coffee.

Her roommate had recovered consciousness not too long after being admitted. Green eyes alight with life, she was right back to her cheery, bright self. As if nothing had happened.

For the umpteenth time, Emma sneaked a glance at her phone—no missed calls, no text messages to alert her that House was coming. What if he decided not to bother?

Dr. Whale made routine checks, insisting that there was nothing seriously wrong with Mary Margaret, but Emma begged to differ. If there was nothing wrong, then why did she faint in the first place? What about the welts on her body?

"Emma," Mary Margaret wrapped a chilly hand tenderly around her wrist. Her face was lined with concern. Shouldn't it have been the other way around? "I'm fine, really. You should go home and get some rest."

"I'm not going to leave you here alone," Emma automatically argued. Who else did Mary Margaret have to keep her company? David, accompanied by the woman he'd chosen over Mary Margaret?

Despite her insistence, she _was_ getting sleepy—a yawn was threatening to overtake her.

"See? You are tired. You've been through too much. Don't worry about me." Mary Margaret smiled reassuringly, her green eyes gleaming intensely.

Emma lounged back against the hard, plastic chair and crossed her arms. She was about to protest when the hospital room door burst open.

"Ms. Blanchard, are you okay?" A flustered Henry Mills dashed into the room and hurried to the side of Mary Margaret's bed. She gave a soft laugh and patted Henry's arm.

"I've never felt better," she replied enthusiastically. Henry spun to face Emma, his face red and worried. His leather-bound fairytale book was tucked underneath his arm—he never went anywhere without it for fear that Regina would discover it.

"What happened to her? Is she sick? Does it have to do with the…_Operation?_" Henry whispered, hinting about the supposed curse that plagued the town.

Emma sighed and got to her feet so Henry could take her spot. What was she even supposed to tell the kid? The right words always seemed to come with more difficulty for her.

"I…I don't know, kid. But I promise that she will get better," Emma stated, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "What are you doing here, anyway? Don't you have a bedtime?" Henry smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"I kind of…snuck out. I heard Regina talking to Dr. Whale on the phone, so I had to see if Ms. Blanchard was okay," he explained, resting the large fairytale book on his lap.

Emma was discomforted by Henry's detached referral to the Mayor. It was always "Regina", never "mom" or even "mother."

Had she known that Henry would not be given his best chance, she might never have given him up. _And I wouldn't have come here, wouldn't be dealing with this situation at all, wouldn't owe a stupid favor to that snake... _

"Hey, Ms. Blanchard, do you mind if I read you a story?"

Mary Margaret eyed Emma meaningfully and then leaned forward as Henry opened his book to a colorful page with an illustration of Snow White.

_Here we go, _Emma thought, stuffing her hands in her jacket pockets and frowning solemnly. Was this another attempt at getting Mary Margaret to remember who she was?

"Oh, Henry, I would love to hear a story," Mary Margaret encouraged him. Emma appreciated the way Mary Margaret acted around kids—she was extremely good at her job. Never did she complain or harshly scold a child. Her talent was listening. It was what Henry needed.

Instead of sticking around for the story, Emma slipped into the hallway. She was in desperate need of another cup of coffee.

...

"So, where is this place again?" Thirteen was driving, her jade green eyes shifting between the road and House.

"Storybrooke, Maine," House repeated from the passenger seat. Placing his cane between his knees, he rolled it in the palms of his hands.

"Storybrooke?" Taub pronounced each syllable with emphasis.

"Never heard of it," Chase said, eyes closed and arms folded across his chest. His attitude had been noticeably wooden since House first announced Cameron's role in their little trip.

The only one missing from the cramped car was Foreman; the neurologist had opted to stay behind, in which case House kindly requested he take over his clinic hours. Demanded, was more like it.

House leaned over and snapped on the radio. He played with the dial until the Beatles' "Come Together" was flowing from the speakers.

"Who's the patient?" Taub stared fixedly at House, whose head was resting firmly against the seat, eyes closed. It took such a while for an answer that Taub figured House was ignoring him.

"No clue. Cameron said it would be interesting," House carefully replied. His cane halted in its movement.

"And you're satisfied with taking her word for it?" Thirteen glanced at House suspiciously. "Wait a minute. You actually want to see her."

Even though his eyes remained closed, House's body visibly stiffened and his hands gripped his cane. Taub's eyebrows rose and he gazed at House with amusement.

"Is Thirteen right? House, you never randomly accept a case. You're going because of Cam-"

"Shut up!" House whirled in his seat and bellowed at Taub. "You're starting to sound like Wilson. If I wanted a lecture, I would have brought him along." House turned around again and shut his eyes once more. Silence fell around the car.

"With our luck, it's a cancer patient and she's hugging them to death," Chase suddenly chirped up, not even trusting himself enough to use _her_ name.

The last notes of the song faded away. House sank gratefully into an easy sleep.

"Wake me when we get there," House demanded of Thirteen and then he was gone.

...

**How did you all like this one? House is making his way to Storybrooke! **

**Oh boy, the 12th episode was...amazing! Possibly one of the best yet, in my opinion. **

**i hope you guys liked the chapter and will maybe tell me what you thought of it? (= **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**House **_**or **_**Once Upon a Time. **_**These shows belong to Fox and ABC. **

**A/N: Phew, this is a long chapter. But I promise it's a good one. It also references one of my favorite House/Cameron scenes. **

**With that in mind, enjoy!**

**Wait...one more thing. I want to thank everyone who has favorited and alerted this story (again).Also, a proper shout-out to the reviewers so far: ladyyuuki16, LiteraryMuffin, book-sage, mellimon, and travelg. Thank you for your words and taking the time to read my story! **

**One of you hinted about wanting Rumpel in here…all I can say is that I still have some aces to play with this story. And as for Henry's father…you'll have to see how that unfolds! (-;**

**Chapter Six**

_It was late at night. A gala was being held downstairs, filled with light cocktails and poker games. House was in his office, wracking his brain for the answer..._

_The kid was dying, just like Esther. History was repeating itself, but why? _

_In filed his team, dressed elegantly to be sure, not that he gave them a second glance. _

_The ideas went bouncing, but failed to produce an answer. There had to be an answer. The symptoms blurred before him on the whiteboard. _

_House was in the middle of a sentence when he finally faced his team and-_

_"Whoa," he breathed in awe, his crystal blue eyes landing on Cameron. _

_At that moment, there was only her in the room. Foreman and Chase faded into the background, paling in comparison to the beauty that was standing there, just out of arm's reach. _

_Everything about her was perfect. The soft, rich waves of brown hair, the sparkling green eyes, the strapless red dress that complimented her delicate figure so perfectly..._

_The dream changed. _

_With a suggestive smile, Cameron glided forward until their bodies were only an inch or so apart. Similar to when she kissed him, Cameron gradually placed her hands on his face. Only this time she did not kiss him. _

_This time, she brought her face up to his and paused close to his ear. Only two words were whispered._

_"Rescue me." _

...

"House. House! Wake up," Thirteen urged him as she nudged him awake. The car was still moving and House opened his eyes in time to read the oversized, elaborate sign. _Welcome to Storybrooke. _

"How long was I asleep?" The dream echoed in his head. Oh, the things Wilson would say about that one.

"Only a couple of hours," she assured him as the car inched along the quiet street. Bright, colorful shops decorated the sidewalk and a town clock stood in the center of town. House checked the time-8:15 p.m.

In the back seat, Taub had his legs stretched across Chase's lap as he dozed. Chase was snoring against the headrest.

Thirteen abruptly braked, startling the two awake. Taub yawned and stretched leisurely, asking something that sounded like "Are we there yet?" Chase noticed Taub's legs and shoved them off.

"Cameron lives _here?_" Taub asked skeptically, showing distaste for the little shops on the street.

"It's so...provincial," Thirteen added. She certainly wouldn't have pegged it for Cameron's style. It was much too quiet and small, the type of town where everyone knew everyone else and everything they did.

"Anyone hungry?" House asked, his stomach rumbling in emphasis. The last thing he could recall eating was a packet of crackers earlier that afternoon.

"Depends. Are you buying?" Chase replied, rubbing his own empty stomach. On their right was a small diner and Thirteen parked the car.

"Nope," House stated bluntly as he whipped out a credit card and a wad of dollar bills. "Wilson is."

...

Emma was in the throes of wrestling a bland cup of coffee from the nearly busted coffee machine in the hospital's waiting room when House's team walked in. They were being led by Dr. Whale.

Thirteen and Taub offered her polite smiles, but Chase refused to meet her eye. Dr. Whale's jaw was set tensely and his fingers tapped restlessly against his side. The only time that stiffness vanished was when he secretly studied Thirteen, a wolfish hunger in the depths of his eyes.

"Sheriff," he addressed her coolly. "These people have been asking for you. According to them, you don't trust me enough to do my job," he accused her, lips set in an angry line.

"Sheriff?" Taub and Thirteen exchanged strange looks at the title. Then again, the last time they saw her she was a doctor, not a law enforcer. Chase gazed at everything in the room, apparently oblivious to the conversation at hand.

"I figured it wouldn't hurt to get a second opinion," Emma answered Dr. Whale with finality. He muttered the excuse of checking on Mary Margaret and strode away.

"Long time no see," Thirteen said. Emma returned a greeting, but reserved most of her attention for her ex-husband. There was a far-away look in his eyes and he kept running his fingers roughly through his sandy hair-a sign that he was bothered.

"Hello, Chase." Those fingers, ones that had caressed her so often, paused and dropped to his side. Reluctantly, he looked to her and nodded once.

"Um...anyone need a drink? I'm going to get some coffee..." His words trailed off; everyone including him knew it was an effort to escape. Clearing his throat, he awkwardly shuffled off.

"I'm sorry," Thirteen mumbled, lips pursed with disapproval. Emma had already thrown her wall back up with the full-fledged need to lick her wounds. "That was rude, but he still hasn't gotten over-"

"I understand," Emma lied, staring at Mary Margaret's hospital room. It was her that had been hurt by him, not the other way around. "Where's House? No offense, but I remember specifically asking for his help."

Thirteen and Taub became uneasy and Emma had to wonder why. It was Taub who spoke up, shrugging.

"He got held up at the diner." At first, Emma was confused as to the reason for House being held up-he almost never admitted to being a doctor in public-until she managed to recall a popular asset to the diner.

"Ruby?" _Typical, House, _she thought, imagining all the ways House was taunting the waitress solely for her attire.

"If you mean the waitress with the red streaks and barely a stitch of clothing...then yes," Thirteen replied. "For House's sake, I hope she's legal." Emma didn't bother pointing out that _she_ would be the one to handle the situation.

"Though, Thirteen seemed to also enjoy her presence," Taub hinted, making Thirteen blush profusely. She opened her mouth to protest when the hospital doors slammed open to reveal House, striding in like he owned the place.

"You did not walk that fast, House. The hospital is more than fifty feet from the diner," Emma questioned him. House limped over to his team and glared at them.

"I hitched a ride. Us cripples are permitted to do that," he retorted, waving his cane before Emma. She didn't even need to ask who gave him the ride. _Just a certain waitress who happened to be closing up the diner. _

Just then, Henry caught up to Emma and seemed ready to ask her something when his wide eyes fell on the strangers. The book nearly tumbled out of his hand.

"Who are they?" It was abrupt, but the team did not take offense to it. Only House scrutinized him like prey. Emma was really hoping she could leave Henry out of this mess.

"Who's the kid?" House gestured his cane to him and popped two Vicodin into his mouth.

"I asked first," Henry shot back, scrunching up his face at House. Emma rested a hand on his shoulder.

"These are doctors. They're going to help Mary Margaret," she explained to Henry, smiling as warmly as she could. Henry eyed each one in turn.

"Is it my turn yet? _Who's the kid?" _House's voice rose across the waiting room, demanding to be heard. Emma rolled her eyes.

"This is Henry. He's my son." Chase returned with a half-empty cup in his hand, grimacing at the liquid inside. He still wasn't acknowledging Emma any more than he would a stranger on the street.

"What'd I miss?" Thirteen and Taub were gaping at Emma, unable to process it. Chase glanced from one to the other, puzzled.

"Oh, you didn't get the memo? Cameron has a kid," House announced so loudly that every head in the waiting room spun their way. Emma sighed and buried her face in her hand. Maybe having House here wasn't the most brilliant idea.

Chase's eyes had flown wide at the sight of Henry-_Cameron's child_, he was probably repeating in his head. Henry had a confused look on his face.

"Who's Cameron? Her name is Emma," he corrected House. Emma did not want to face this right now. _I forgot House has a lot of catching up to do. _

"No, her name is Cameron," Taub argued flatly. Thirteen was trying to mask her shock while House expected Emma's explanation. Well, she would not give it to him tonight.

"You can't be here. Strangers never come to Storybrooke," Henry protested. Emma couldn't help but glance at his book. _Please don't bring up the fairy-tales, _she silently pleaded him.

If Henry brought up the curse, it would surely mean disaster. That belief was a glass house and House would only be too thrilled chucking a couple of heavy stones to make it shatter.

"Why not? Cam..._Emma _hasn't lived here forever," Chase pointed out, dumping his coffee in the nearest trash bin and wiping his hands on his pants.

"Henry, why don't you-" Emma started to guide him away, but the kid was manning his guns. When he started up, there was no stopping him.

"Because..." He lowered his voice so only they could hear. "There's a curse on this town. It's actually a fairy-tale world and the people in it can't leave. Nobody comes in, either. My mom-" Henry tugged on the red sleeve of Emma's jacket. "-is special because she's going to break the curse."

There was silence as the team absorbed this.

Emma briefly wondered why Henry was willingly telling them this, when she realized it was because _she _had called on them. If they were "friends" of hers, then Henry believed they could be trusted. _Oh, kid..._

"Oh, yeah. He's definitely your kid, Cameron," House concluded, dismissing the entire thing as a child's fantasy. _Thank God, _Emma breathed with relief.

Emma led the team to Mary Margaret's hospital room, walking past a sullen Dr. Whale on the way.

...

The cold Maine air slapped him in the face, but it felt good compared to the sweltering heat of the hospital.

The minute he got outside, he checked over his shoulder to make certain that no one would be listening. Pulling out his phone, he punched in a familiar number and listened to the dull tone in his ear.

Regina was not going to like this, but better she hear it from him than someone else. Anger poured through his nerves as he imagined Emma calling in _those _doctors. What did she suspect he would do? Murder Mary Margaret?

"Yes?" Regina's controlled demeanor was crisp and clear even over the phone. Of all the people he was not fond of upsetting in Storybrooke, she topped the list. The hand holding the phone quivered as he searched for the proper words.

"Uh, well...you see..."

"Speak up, already! I don't like my time to be wasted by petty distractions," she snapped at him, making him wince slightly. His throat was raw and burning. The full moon's light washed over him, mystifying him.

"Sheriff Swan," he choked out, his voice breaking. There was a heavy pause on the other end and he practically felt the grinding of the wheels in Regina's head.

Two people came out of the hospital and he ducked around the corner to avoid being seen. Their chatter died away as they traveled in the opposite direction.

"What trouble has she caused now?" Regina's voice dripped with distaste for the Sheriff. What was it about Emma Swan that the Mayor detested so greatly? Whatever it was, Dr. Whale wished to have little part in it, save for this phone call.

"She's gone and called in a few other doctors to help Mary Margaret. I caught some of the names. Thirteen, Taub, Chase, and I think the other one's name is House. He seems like a real bastard," Dr. Whale hurriedly filled her in. "You said you wanted me to call you if anything came up-"

"Yes, I know what I said. I do not need reminding, Dr. Whale." Regina retreated into a sharp silence again, though Dr. Whale thought he could hear a thin clicking, like nails against the surface of a desk. Those nails could probably rip a heart directly from a person's chest. _Why was I thinking that? Odd..._

"Madame Mayor, she's insisting they treat her. What should I do?" Dr. Whale waited, his nerves jumping more frantically by the minute. Wasn't he perfectly capable of treating Mary Margaret?

There was a low release of breath and then the clicking nails halted.

"You are to do absolutely nothing...except keep an eye on them. I'll be right there." With that final command, Regina hung up, leaving him with only the empty buzzing of a line gone dead.

...


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Yes, it is true! I own **_**House**_** and **_**Once! **_**Haha! *lands in jail* It was a joke! I could only ever wish to own these shows. Where's Rumpel when you need him? **

**A/N: Holy crap, reveiws! Thanks, guys! (= Every last one of them was wonderful! **

**To LiteraryMuffin: can I just say that your review made me almost burst out laughing? In a good way, of course. Yes, Mr Gold and House being in the same room would totally blow up the universe from awesomeness! You'll just have to wait and see how that goes (though Emma may not exactly enjoy it...hint hint). **

**Now, on with the show! **

_**Chapter Seven**_

"Mary Margaret, this is Dr. House," Emma introduced the two as House sauntered into the room. "He's a colleague of mine and he's going to help you." Mary Margaret shyly studied him for a moment.

"Pleasure to meet you," she greeted him, but received no kind word in return. Instead, House watched her like a boring show that must be switched off instantly.

"You brought me up here to treat a nun?" The cropped black hair, name, and general air of purity fit the description rather well. Emma scowled at him. Religion was not a favorite topic of House's, and he often poked endlessly at it.

"I'm a teacher," Mary Margaret hesitantly told him, smiling gently.

House limped over to the plastic chair and sat down. He propped his leg up on the bed, inches from Mary Margaret's legs, and rested his cane on the bedside table beside him.

"As if that's any improvement," he retorted, causing Mary Margaret's smile to slip away. Emma crossed the room and forced House's legs off the bed. Honestly, would it kill him not to act so rude to patients?

As he examined Mary Margaret-_nun_, he repeated in his head-House's mind wandered off track. Specifically, he was recalling the pieces of a memory he had forgotten a long time ago.

The first night he met Cameron, ten years ago.

It was before she was ever hired to work for him, at the milestone age of eighteen. It was clear to him that she had never retained any memory of that erratic night, but then she'd downed four alcoholic drinks.

The timeline fit-the kid couldn't be more than ten years old. House observed the boy as he flipped through the pages of his fairy tale book. Still, assumption did not always coincide with cold-hard fact.

The slamming of the door forced House to return to the present.

A smartly dressed, business-type woman was standing in the doorway, an unpleasant frown pinching her flawless ruby lips.

The way she carried herself, cloaked in confidence and authority, reminded House of Cuddy, especially those moments when she was fuming at him. This woman was most certainly fuming.

"Which one of you is House?"

"He is," House pointed to Chase accusingly, whose mouth fell open in disbelief. Ever since he got shot, House felt it was a regrettable decision, alerting others to his identity when summoned. Better Chase than him, anyway.

The woman detected his lie; her cold eyes shifted to House without a second thought.

"Judging by your lack of honesty, I'd say otherwise," she replied haughtily, folding her hands and glaring down at him.

"Takes a good liar to recognize another equally good liar." This implication upset her. Those pursed lips became more of a pout.

House noticed with increasing interest that Cameron-_Emma-_did not seem fond of the woman, either. Her figure had grown tense since the woman's appearance and her green eyes were guarded.

"Dr. House, presume?" The woman's face was blank, but her fierce eyes warned him: _don't play games with me. _It was a pity-House lived for games.

"That depends. Who's asking?" House was evasive as ever, all the while twirling his cane through his fingers. The woman strode forward and snatched it away. "I need that. Bum leg."

"I happen to be the mayor of this town. And as the mayor, I demand you leave my town," she declared, darts shooting from her eyes.

"There is no law that prevents strangers from visiting Storybrooke," Emma advised the mayor confidently. The mayor swiveled to Emma, smirking.

"You will stay out of this, Miss Swan." The mayor noticed Henry watching the scene unfold. "And what is my son doing here so late at night? Seems to me you're becoming more and more a bad influence."

"Madam Mayor, Henry was worried about me," Mary Margaret explained hastily. She always hated seeing Henry so miserable around Regina. Emma's bold look dared the mayor to object.

The mayor tossed her a look that simply read: _we'll deal with this situation later._

"Dr. House, I want you and your team out of here by tonight. No exceptions." It was an order, not a suggestion or request. The mayor was clearly bothered by their presence, which motivated House to stay all the more.

"Madame Mayor, are you saying you would not prefer Mary Margaret being treated by one of the world's best doctors? You would deny her that care?"

Emma had successfully backed the mayor into a corner. If the mayor suggested she opposed the idea, it would prove she did not truly care enough for the safety and health of her citizens.

"Just what are you implying, Miss Swan? Are you accusing me of neglecting what is best for this town?"

"You tell me, Regina. How often do you do what's best?" Emma's tone contradicted Regina, challenging her morals as only Cameron could.

Regina stepped forward until her face was an inch from Emma, eyes gleaming dangerously.

"How dare you question my authority, _Sheriff_. Learn your place." Turning back to House, Regina's lips stretched into a smile that lacked emotion. "Dr. House, I will give you a generous three days to treat Ms. Blanchard. After that, you are to leave Storybrooke and never come back." Regina gripped Henry's shoulder and the two departed from the room. Regina flung his cane at him before disappearing.

"Wasn't she a ray of sunshine," House commented, hobbling closer to his team. "I want one of you to remain here and keep an eye on the patient." Not one of his team members volunteered. "That wasn't a question."

"I'll stay with Mary Margaret," Emma offered, sinking into the plastic chair that House recently vacated. Mary Margaret appeared ready to protest, but Emma refused to hear it.

"Thank you, _Cameron._" House deliberately glared at his team. "We'll start on the difficult part tomorrow."

...

"I'm sorry, but there are absolutely no rooms available," Granny insisted, empty hands spread wide in apology.

The team was hassling for a place to spend the night-the only possible hospitality was Granny's bed and breakfast.

Ruby leaned against the wall, filing her long red nails and watching the exchange glumly. It was a pity they had to turn the strangers away-it would have brought in some decent money. _God knows we need every cent, _she thought bitterly, a certain pawnbroker hovering on the fringes of her mind.

House shuffled around the foyer, occasionally picking up an object for further scrutiny. Dust had settled over everything and the entire place was silent as a tomb. It was also stuffy; sweat collected on House's brow though he made no move to swipe it away.

"There must be some space. We can always share rooms," Thirteen argued with the elderly woman. Again, Granny refused to budge, eyes avoiding the team altogether.

"I am sorry. We're all full."

"She's lying," House objected, approaching the narrow, wooden registry desk. Granny's frail hands gripped the edges. "There's dust everywhere because she's had no reason to keep the place presentable. Ruby also works all day, so I'm assuming you're barely making ends meet on your rent."

The solemn downset of Granny's eyes confirmed House's words.

"Why would she lie if she desperately needs the money?" Chase fired the question at House, arms folded across his chest.

"I'm guessing you recently received a phone call from the mayor telling you not ot give us hospitality."

House noticed Granny's body grow tense. Sweeping his eyes to Ruby, she conveniently lowered her gaze, pretending to be absorbed with her nails.

"I'm sorry," Granny repeated softly. "The mayor's word is law." House disagreed. Granny and Ruby were simply afraid of Regina's wrath.

"Kind of a double-edged sword don't you think?" House eyed Granny intently, laying his hands on the top of the desk to lean towards her.

"House, drop it," Taub advised him as the team visibly gave up their efforts. Fortunately, House had developed the ability to block out his team when necessary.

"If you do give us hospitality, you'll be able to pay your rent much easier. Of course, it also means you'll anger the mayor." House chose his words carefully, allowing them to sink in.

"House, we'll find someplace else to stay," Thirteen urged him, the team already opening the door and letting in a cool night breeze. House wasn't finished...yet.

"On the other hand, if you don't give us hospitality, then you'll have satisfied the mayor's request. But you might not be able to pay your rent, therefore angering the person who collects every month."

"House-" Chase started again, but House ignored him.

"The question here is: which one are you more afraid of?" Digging in his pockets, House revealed a handful of cash. "This should cover the rent on your pathetic inn. Now, how about those rooms?"

Ruby's frustrated nail-filing screeched to a halt, her eyes flying wide at the sight of the money in House's hand. Granny never made a move to accept it.

"Forgive me...but no." Granny turned her back on House and nervously rummaged through a few items.

Ruby was astounded. There was a good deal of money there; she could see it from where she stood. What was Granny thinking, rejecting an offer like that?

"Oh, hell. If you're not going to take it, then I am," she exclaimed, rushign forward to take the money. Instantly, she flipped through the bills, counting.

"Ruby," Granny chastised with a piercing stare. Ruby was far past hearing anything but the crisp flutter of money through her fingers. Every passing second, her mouth dropped wider.

"Granny...there's enough money here to cover two months' rent!" Ruby shrieked, face ashen with awe.

"Ruby, we can't-"

"_Two months!" _Ruby repeated, waving the money closer to Granny's face. "You're willing to pass up two months' worth of rent when we can barely scrape up one for that manipulative-"

_"Ruby,"_ Granny warned her sternly, silencing her complaints.

"As I said, how about those rooms?" House encouraged her, tapping his cane rapidly on the wooden floors. Granny glanced back at the wad of cash in Ruby's hand and considered it longingly.

Opening a drawer, the woman retrieved two silver keys.

"I'm afraid you'll have to share rooms as there's very limited space for all four of you," she said, the keys dangling from her shaky fingers.

"I call Chase," Taub announced, reaching forward for one of the keys. That only left-

"Looks like it's you and me, darling," House told Thirteen, briskly accepting the remaining key and twirling it before her face. Thirteen rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Oh, and perhaps one of you should inform Wilson of his good deed so he can go to sleep feeling happy. Maybe then he'll wake up feeling miserable." Thirteen followed House up the rickety stairs. Swiftly, he leaned down to whisper something to her. "I have a feeling this road trip's going to be fun already."

...


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **_**House **_**and **_**Once Upon A Time **_**are not mine. They belong to Fox and ABC (lucky them). **

**A/N: I'm glad so many people are enjoying this story. Recently, I've been getting better ideas for this. I'm writing a couple of chapters ahead-about three or four, actually. **

**Enjoy this chapter, everyone. By the way, it gives another small insight to the fairy tale world that was...**

**Chapter Eight**

Emma was brutally stirred awake by an impatient Regina, her foot tapping angrily on the tiled hospital floor.

_What's her problem this morning? Besides me, _Emma wondered, rubbing her tired eyes. Mary Margaret was dead asleep in her hospital bed, head bent at an odd angle against the pillow.

"Miss Swan, just because your roommate is ill does not give you the priveledge of neglecting your duties as Sheriff," Regina barked at her, lips pulled tight in a frown.

Emma stretched casually. Her throat was dry, her head ached, and Regina was the last thing she wanted to put up with at..._nine _in the morning.

"I wasn't planning on neglecting my duties. I know how to do my job," Emma snapped back, standing and grabbing up her red leather jacket. Regina gave her a doubtful look. "Why are you here, anyway? Trying to put on a good face for the public?"

"My business is none of your concern. I was simply checking up on Ms. Blanchard. It seems Ms. Ginger will have to cover her classes until she's treated. Which reminds me: how is your fabulous doctor doing with that?" Regina was smirking at her, knowing full well House wasn't here.

"He's a good doctor. He'll find out what's wrong with Mary Margaret in no time," Emma assured her, brushing past on the way to the door. Regina always had to have the last word.

"We'll see about that, Miss Swan," she replied to Emma's back. Emma studied Mary Margaret one last time and then headed out to show Regina she could do her job much better than she thought.

...

Regina sipped her caramel latte as she stared down at the sleeping form of Mary Margaret. This way, she appeared exactly as Snow White had after the sleeping curse, save for the shorter hair.

The machine beside her beeped as it kept track of Mary Margaret's vital signs. What if the young teacher happened to flatline this morning? Only Regina seemed clever enough to recognize the trouble caused by this supposedly innocent girl.

Mary Margaret slept on, unaware of Regina's presence. _Sleeping...in a glass coffin..._

Regina sensed the ebb of memories draping her mind, dragging her underneath the surface again. Rather than fight it, she succumbed to it, losing herself in a world she once knew.

...

_The Forbidden Fortress was an enclosure of stone walls, forming an intimidating castle, that pivoted on a steep, sharp layer of rock. Snowy mountains surrounded it, impossible to climb or trek. The castle itself was near impossible to reach, lest one knew the proper path. _

_The Evil Queen understood the layout like the back of her fair hand, for many a time had she visited the witch that dwelled inside its heart. Maleficent, her only considerable friend. _

_The Fortress' halls were as abandoned and cruel as the Evil Queen's resignment was to become. Trailing black, leathery skirts along the ragged carpeted corridors, the Evil Queen located the study, in which she imagined her friend would be awaiting her arrival. _

_"I had a feeling someone would be paying me a kind visit soon," Maleficent, clad in black lace with spirals of honey-shaded locks framing her face, greeted her as she poured two teacups of rich, tempting tea. A blazing fire roared in the fireplace, the fiery embers casting shadowy demons along the bare stone walls. _

_"Yes, I happen to be the only one who visits you," the Evil Queen reminded her, settling into a nearby armchair decorated with golden detail. _

_Maleficent was not easily convinced; her trade in the dark arts did not brand her a fool. _

_"Only when you are in desperate need of something. Tell me, friend, what bothers you?" Maleficent spat out the word "friend" as if it held little meaning for her. _Good, _the Evil Queen thought. _Otherwise, she would be a fool.

_Maleficent raised the cup to her crimson lips and drew a long sip, blackened nails curling around the handle as delicately as they would a child's throat. _

_"That wretched Snow White mocks me. I am not sure how much longer I can stand her existence in this world," the Evil Queen complained, chest hollow from undue pain and misery. _

_"You wish to dispose of her? Or have you come for comfort which I am unable or otherwise unwilling to give?" Maleficent's black pet trotted to her side and she stroked it longingly. It was the only living creature worthy of her love and would so be the death of her. _

_"I have come to make a simple deal with you. A trade of sorts," the Evil Queen announced, fidgeting restlessly in her seat. Maleficent eyed her warily over the brim of her cup. _

_"No deal is ever simple. Of that you would be wise to understand. Many a fool have lost a dear thing due to a...'simple' deal." Maleficent gazed into the pit of the flames, thoughts spinning like straw on a wheel. _

_"You are my only salvation," the Evil Queen was on the brink of pleading. _

_Options running out, this chance may be her last. Except...no, she vowed she would never use it. It was much too dark, much too unpredictable. Exactly like the imp who had bestowed it upon her. _

_"You once told me love is weakness. However, is it not love that has driven you to this reckless edge, Regina? Are you incapable of such an act?" Maleficent was mocking her. The sore memories threatened to ensnare her, but she brushed them away. _

_"Do not mock me. Are you determined to aid me or not? If not, I will see to it that this fortress crumbles along with your heart...whatever remains of it." _

_The Evil Queen crossed and uncrossed her legs, agitated. Maleficent's mask was calm and calculating. _

_"What is it you desire from me?" Leaning forward, the Evil Queen studied the wooden carved staff that never left her friend's stony grip. Atop it lay a crystal, inside it an intricate curse. Not as dark, but powerful nevertheless. _

_"The sleeping curse which you have fabricated for your own troubles." _

_"And in return? What shall you offer me, dear queen?" The Evil Queen slipped a finger inside a concealed pouch of her dress and retrieved the scroll. On this scroll was written-in a fine golden hand, no less-the secret to performing the curse of all curses. _

_"I will give you this. I never intend to use it," the Evil Queen assured her, handing it over. _

_The moment the scroll rested in Maleficent's bony hands, her eyes grew black as night and an odd emotion crept along her face. Fear. _

_"This...this is an extremely dark curse. It radiates death and misery...pain of which no living being could ever hope to bear. Where did you find a curse such as this?" _

_"My business is none of your concern," the Evil Queen snapped. "Now whereabouts is that sleeping curse?" _

_Maleficent stood, lace rustling, and detached the crystal from her staff. Below that was the curse, drawn out with quivering fingers. Was this witch, in all honesty, afraid? _

_"Coward," the Evil Queen spat at her distastefully. Never did she obtain the liking for "sheep", as she preferred to say. Maleficent offered her the curse, a vial of golden liquid. How fitting. _

_"Do not mistake cowardice for mere common sense, Regina. All magic comes with a price." Her friend was warning her? Price did not matter so long as Snow White suffered appropriately. "Some prices may be crossing the line." _

_"I do not care for your petty advice," the Evil Queen retorted, spinning on her heel. _

_"The curse is not yet complete. It requires a personal detail of Snow White's, the greater to wound her." _

_The Evil Queen scoffed at the information as she had the advice. _

_"Snow White is as good as dead." The Evil Queen marched from the fortress, vanishing in a wisp of black smoke, vial clutched to her heart. _

_A personal item of Snow White? That would certainly prove tricky, now that the princess was hiding beneath her radar. _

_Fortunately, she knew of one who could assist her with that matter, price be damned. _

...

Regina was pulled back to the present at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Turning, she noticed David standing in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and coffee in the other. _How sweet, _she thought bitterly.

"David, I'm surprised to see you here," Regina remarked, smiling coolly at him. David edged his way into the room, his eyes never leaving Mary Margaret. The two simply could not stay away from each other, could they?

"Yes, well...I heard Mary Margaret was in the hospital. I just came by to make sure she was okay," he replied, sounding sincere in his efforts. Regina smirked at this. "Uh...is she okay?"

"I can assure you that Ms. Blanchard is perfectly fine. Where is your wife, Kathryn?" Regina deliberately called David on this and watched him struggle for words. Nervously, he glanced down at the floor.

"Kathryn's at home. I decided to stop by while getting some coffee from Granny's Diner," David explained, gesturing to the cup of coffee in his hand. Regina kept her gaze locked on his eyes.

"Yes, you were willing to go in the opposite direction of Granny's Diner to the hospital. How thoughtful of you," she snidely told him. David's thin smile faltered. "Does Kathryn even know you're here?"

David appeared flustered at this question; constantly, he glanced around the room, avoiding Regina's gaze. Of course Kathryn did not know her husband was visiting an ill Mary Margaret, the woman he had almost left her for. _Almost, but not quite. I made sure of that. _

"I think I'll just leave these flowers here for Mary Margaret. If she wakes up, can you tell her I stopped by?" Regina did not so much as nod to this request as David left the room.

The moment he was gone, she grabbed the bouquet of flowers and chucked them out the window.

That's when Mary Margaret's eyes shot open, her fingers scratching along the skin of her arms and chest, red angry bumps forming there. That was when Mary Margaret began to scream.

...


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own these two marvelous shows, no matter how much I beg Rumpel to make it so. /= **

**A/N: This chapter focuses mostly on Mary Margaret's illness-and so the puzzle begins! (= **

**Right now, though, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed recently. A shout-out then to Swarkles, Danik, Sillia, jam888, travelg, and WarriorsFan26. **

**To Swarkles: I am so pleased you made an account just for this story! Aw, thanks so much! **

**To jam888: Yeah, I decided to add in the note of House stealing Wilson's money since he has done it so often in the past. Just for fun. I'm still playing around with the theory of Henry's father, though. **

**To travelg: I always assumed Regina would be annoyed by someone like House and annoying her is so much fun! Also, I like your idea at the end of your review-it just might inspire me a little in this story. **

**And to ALL of you: enjoy the chapter! Long note, sorry, hehe. **

**Chapter Nine**

_Dizziness, abdominal pain, difficulty breathing, burning sensations..._House listed the symptoms on a white board.

The team had decided to work in a conference room in the hospital. It was a particularly bland conference room, but at least they were not being interrupted.

"Now the big question: what's wrong with her?" House took a step back from the board as if admiring a piece of art. The team mulled over the question, lacking a definite answer.

"It could be a simple allergy," Chase suggested, slouching in a cushioned chair with his legs on the table. "The welts look a little like hives. An allergic reaction could easily explain all those symptoms."

Emma immediately frowned at the idea-all her instincts were pointing against it. There was some underlying problem that refused to rear its ugly head.

"Easy, sure," House agreed, flicking the black marker round and round in his hands. "But is it right? What does the allergy expert say?" House glanced at her, waiting for a good argument. The team's eyes followed, placing Emma on the spot.

"It could be-" Thirteen started, but House slammed his cane against the surface of the table. Thirteen jumped, her words fading away.

"Excuse me! Last time I checked, _Cameron_ was the allergy expert," he shushed her.

"My birth name is Emma. It's the name I've been using," Emma corrected him, narrowing her eyes. House shrugged.

"You'll always be Cameron to me," he replied with sarcastic doe-eyes. House rapped his cane on the white board, bringing her back on topic.

"I don't think it's an allergic reaction that's causing this," Emma firmly argued, spreading her palms forward on the table.

"And this assumption is based off of...?" Chase questioned her, eyes glued to the white board.

Ever since the team had arrived, he'd refused to even glance once at her, even while speaking to her. Pretending she was nearly invisible was the way he chose to handle it.

"Besides the fact I used to be an immunologist? Mary Margaret should be getting better now that she's not exposed to anything responsible for an allergic reaction. Instead, she's only getting worse," Emma pointed out. House nodded absently, the wheels in his mind spinning on overdrive.

"Maybe whatever she's allergic to is also inside her hopsital room," Taub said, hands steepled under his chin.

"Unfortunately, our patient is unconscious from the pain. She won't be able to tell us anything until she wakes up and we're not wasting time," House commented, rubbing his fingers across his forehead, irritated.

It was quiet for a moment and then House whirled to face his team.

"Thirteen. What brilliant idea were you about to give us?" Thirteen glanced up from Mary Margaret's medical chart. Tossing it aside, she leaned forward in her seat.

"Before I was rudely interrupted," she began, shooting House a sharp look. "I was going to suggest it might be something she's consuming, but not necessarily something she's allergic to."

"Drugs," House clarified, scanning the board once more. "The pure, good teacher sneaking cigarettes or something worse after first putting on a good image for her kids." Emma straightened up and shook her head.

"Mary Margaret does not do drugs," she insisted, hands on her hips. The idea of it was ridiculous.

"Does she drink?" House stared fixedly at her. Emma's lips became tense as she pictured the bottle of wine sitting in their fridge. Then, there was the celebration party at Granny's on account of her winning the job as Sheriff.

"Occasionally she'll have a drink, yes. It doesn't mean she's an alcoholic." Emma knew Mary Margaret only resorted to the comfort of alcohol when she was deeply stressed. Lately, she had been stressed often due to David.

"Alright. Taub and Thirteen...check out the apartment for anything that might remotely cause her sickness. Chase, do a tox screen," House ordered, dismissing his team. Emma lingered behind, sensing that the two of them were not finished yet.

"Alcohol is not causing this, House. That would be too simple an answer." Emma rested against the edge of the coffee table.

"Since when do you prefer to be called 'Emma Swan'?" House's penetrating blue eyes speculated her.

Of all the things Emma had missed about House, his crystal blue eyes would most likely top the list. Those eyes were also dangerous-they were capable of seeing through a person's walls to their very core.

"It's always been my name. I told you that," she said, leveling her gaze with him. Emma knew fully well what he meant. House was prying into her past.

"Why 'Allison Cameron'?" House shifted his weight on his cane as he limped towards her. Those old wounds were ripping open again; she could feel them stretching across her heart, the blood pouring thick and cold into her lungs.

"The first foster family was named the Camerons. They returned me at age three, but before that...they legally changed my name.

"One night they had explained to me about almost having a girl of their own. There was a miscarriage. If the daughter existed, she would be named Allison," Emma explained, barely able to say the name.

God, she loathed that name. Allison. It never felt right on her lips, like she was living a lie.

"The name stuck with you. It was a veil that you could hide behind, so you could pretend the pain of Emma Swan didn't exist," House filled in the blanks. Emma nodded, but offered no words.

"You thought God was giving you a second chance. Until more unexpected pain tore that veil to shreds. A broken heart, a crumbling marriage...suddenly your perfect world was not so perfect. You could no longer hide in the shadows..._Emma_," House concluded, every word ringing true.

Emma was silent, tearless. There was no use denying the truth that dangled right in front of her face. Emma. That name felt right.

"Pity," House muttered under his breath. The word...it struck a chord somewhere deep inside her. Whispering words curled around her mind, skittering about like leaves in the wind.

_Pity...pity for me...but not for you, right?_ What was that about? A long lost memory? Henry's theory was really starting to mess with her.

Emma shook it off and stood, heading for the door. House was making her far too uncomfortable, and maybe a little nostalgic as well. It was too close for comfort.

"I'm going to help Chase with the tox screen," she called over her shoulder, never glancing back.

_Absolutely, _House remembered his response to her all those years ago. _Dying changes everything. _

...

Thirteen had to admit that Cameron's apartment wasn't that bad.

It was cozy and warm, much like how she pictured home to be. Sunshine flowed in through the windows, setting a golden touch over everything. The window offered a beautiful view of Storybrooke, the town clock towering over everything else.

"Wow," Thirteen breathed, glancing around. Taub followed her inside, shutting the door as he did.

"Home sweet home," he said, moving to the center of the first room. It was an adjoined kitchen and living area. Thirteen could see the open doorway leading to Mary Margaret's bedroom.

Thirteen stepped close to the bay window and gazed out over the quiet town. Her mind recalled the little boy-Henry-and his theory of fairy tales. Did he look out his window in the morning and think about all the possible fairy tale characters lurking in town?

"So, what do you think of Cameron's kid?" Thirteen was curious about Taub's outlook on Henry's imagination. That was what Taub had called it, some imagination. Nothing more.

"He's...nice. He's imaginative. And he's not our concern at the moment," he said, hinting that they should worry about their jobs. "There's a half-empty bottle of wine in the fridge, but no other alcohol."

Taub was already sifting through the kitchen. The only thing out of place was a bowl of cookie dough, left abandoned at the time of the accident. A tray of blackened cookies rested next to a tray of perfectly cooked ones.

"Maybe she's allergic to something in the cookie dough," Taub suggested, packing some of it in a bag, just in case. There was no sign of mold, no hint of fumes in the air. "At least she knows how to clean."

"Everything's so...white," Thirteen noted, starting for the bathroom where Cameron found Mary Margaret.

Even the bathroom was spotless-no uncapped toothpaste, no globs of strange substances, no toilet paper drifting across the floor. "White. Hmm...maybe she's Snow White," Thirteen surmised.

Taub appeared by her side and gave her a look that said "are you serious."

"You got that from the color of her kitchen?" Taub stepped inside the bathroom and flung back the shower curtain. Not even any strands of hair in the drain.

"That and she certainly has a talent of cleaning, like you said. Her features also fit the description," Thirteen replied, thinking of Mary Margaret's fair skin, inky black hair, and full red lips.

Bending down, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink. The items were organized, but nothing offered an answer to their puzzle. No strange chemical substances left lying around. No prescription medication, either.

"Alright, I'll play along. If Mary Margaret is Snow White, then that waitress is definitely Red Riding Hood," Taub stated, walking out into the hallway. Thirteen followed, the two entering Mary Margaret's bedroom.

"Ruby? Yeah, I suppose so," Thirteen agreed. "And the mayor has to be an evil queen."

Thirteen couldn't help but smile at their little game. It was a distraction at best, something entertaining while they worked.

Mary Margaret's bedroom had very little in it. A single bed dressed with a white comforter and a quilt. A bedside table with only a clock and a lamp. A closet filled with similar cardigans and knee-length dresses.

"For a teacher, she sure dresses like a nun," Thirteen mumbled, closing the cloest. "Thank God House isn't here." Taub lowered himself on the bed and the springs creaked a bit.

"Not much for us to go on, is there?" Taub scanned the room and his shoulders slumped in weariness. Thirteen landed on the opposite side of the bed. House never liked it when they returned with few explanations.

"There's not even any dust that could cause her breathing difficulties," Thirteen said, rubbing a finger across the bedside table. Spotless.

"Well, if we don't find the answer soon, Snow White might never wake up from her glass coffin," Taub replied, getting to his feet. Back through the kitchen, efforts proven fruitless.

The sight of the trash bin stopped Thirteen. Why had they never thought to check the trash bin?

Kneeling, Thirteen snapped on her latex gloves and carefully dug through the trash. Taub watched her with amusement.

Out came some tissues, the discarded box of cookie mix, and some pieces of food including the remains of an apple. Nothing else.

"Maybe she's had a cold recently," Taub suggested, gesturing to the tissues. "Other than that..." His words faded, for there was little else worth mentioning.

Frustrated, Thirteen leaned back on her heels, the steam of her idea running out.

"Well, that was pointless," she whispered almost to herself. Taub shrugged and held the door open for her. "Let's go back and tell House how miserably we failed."

The two left the apartment, still without any clue as to what was killing their Snow White.

...

The sun blinded her, making her retreat back into the darkness behind her eyelids.

Her head spun, flashes of red illuminating the blackness before her. Dull pains roared through her abdomen, but it wasn't as unbearable a pain as when she had first passed out on the bathroom floor.

_Open your eyes again...you can do it, _she encouarged herself, prying them open. The sunlight wasn't as brutal and slowly the room shifted into view.

She was still in the hospital...but of course she was. That doctor had not figured out what was wrong with her yet. She hoped he would soon, if only to make Emma stop worrying. _I can't remember the last time I've been sick, _she thought, her memories a haze.

The red bumps lined her skin, mostly her arms and chest, but at least the fire had stopped. For a while, the bumps had burned ferociously and at the same time itched like the worst of mosquito bites.

Mary Margaret recalled how she'd dug her nails over them, desperate to satisfy the itching. Every time she scratched, the pain and burning increased until finally she slipped back down into unconsciousness. Now, the bumps barely taunted her as she tried to sit up in bed.

There was no one in the room with her. Dreams of David had filled her sleep and she could still hear his voice in her head. _No, I won't think of him again, _she vowed. _Time to move on. _

Mary Margaret's green eyes traveled to the bedside table. A cup of coffee was sitting there, waiting for her. It was a good-sized cup from Granny's Diner, not the thick sludge that came from the hospital's machines.

Reaching out for it, Mary Margaret found it was still warm. It meant someone had visited her not too long ago, while she slept unaware. _David..._

Despite her vow to forget him, a small smile lifted Mary Margaret's lips. Bringing the coffee cup to her mouth, Mary Margaret allowed the rich drink to fill her up.

She finished it with three long sips and held it in her hands afterwards, intent on savoring David's lingering touch and imagining it was him holding her hand.

...

**So, who's looking forward to tonight's episode? I know I am! (-; Though, I think it will be going off again for the Oscars. Stupid award shows. **

**I hope everyone enjoyed reading the chapter. Lots of good stuff is yet to come (three chapters ahead now!). The creativity is just oozing out of my brain! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**House **_**or **_**Once Upon A Time**_**. Depends, though-can you get arrested for copywrighting in the Fairy Tale World? (Just kidding). **

**A/N: Hello, all! I'm glad to see so many people favoriting, alerting, and reviewing for my story! (-; It's good to know you guys are enjoying it. **

**But it is far from over...**

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter Ten**

Chase was nearly done with the tox screen when Emma found him. In his fingers, he was twirling an uncapped blue pen, waiting for the results. He never looked up as she entered the room and she never expected him to.

"The tox screen almost finished?" Emma chose to linger a few feet away from him, the implied distance making her feel even more awkward and unsettled.

The pen stopped twirling and clattered on the table as though it had burned Chase's skin.

"Mmhm," Chase gave a low noise, nothing more.

Awkward silence.

Emma sighed, frowning at the person she used to know so well. Or at least, whom she thought she knew.

"Chase, you could at least look at me," she blurted out, the anger a rising tide within her. His sandy blonde hair fell across his eyes, hiding them behind a curtain.

"Or you'll arrest me, Sheriff?" Chase held up his hands in mock surrender and finally lifted his eyes to hers. "It's not exactly easy...seeing you again after so long."

His soft accent wrapped around her like a blanket and for a brief instant she clung to it. But no; those memories belonged to a painful chapter in her life, one of many it seemed.

"You think I enjoy this? It's hurting me, too," she admitted, her voice shaking. "You hurt me." Emma did not mean for it to sound like an accusation, but it did.

Her arms folded across her chest as though she were protecting herself from the delicate situation. Her walls were crumbling, the memories too powerful to be stopped now. A river of them poured through her, each one stabbing at her heart. It was the reason for her walls in the first place-it hurt too much to live without them.

Chase's expression grew dark. The results printed out with a shrill pattern of beeps, but neither one made a move to collect them.

"What happened between us...was not that bad," Chase chose his words carefully, mentally stepping around the bombs that could explode in their faces in any given moment. "Cameron...you make it sound so much worse."

Emma's arms dropped to her side in disbelief. It was not only that he was rationalizing that travesty, but also because he'd said her name. In that one utterance, there was a breaking dam of pain, anguish, and longing.

"Not that bad? You _murdered_ a _patient!_" Emma could not her voice rising in multiple octaves. Chase buried his head in his hand in frustration. _Ka-boom, _he thought, realizing that by trying so hard to avoid the traps, he'd stepped directly into the gunfire.

"Cameron, our patient was a tyrant! He would have caused the ruin of hundreds of lives if we had not done something!" Chase willed her to understand, but Emma scoffed at his words.

"We? There's no 'we'. It doesn't matter what the patient is like. It doesn't give us the right to purposely end their lives. It doesn't give us the right to play God," she told him, her words stringing together through clenched teeth. "Otherwise, you're just stooping to Debala's level. It's our-_your_-job to save these people and do what's best for them. Or have you forgotten?"

Chase was stunned by Emma's unexpected lecture. A few guttural noises slipped from his mouth, but no coherent words.

Turning, Chase occupied himself with retrieving the results of the tox screen. As his eyes scanned over it, the worry lines on his face deepened.

"Well, looks like you were right. Tox screen's negative." Chase thrust the papers into her hand and stormed out of the room, this time leaving Emma the broken, speechless one.

...

"I send you to find anything that could remotely explain her sickness and you come back with absolutely nothing," House fired at Taub and Thirteen. "What part of _remotely_ did you not get?"

Taub and Thirteen swiveled repeatedly in their chairs, staring down at Mary Margaret's file. It didn't help that the tox screen was negative, leaving them without a single answer.

"Actually, we did consider that something in the cookie dough was causing her allergice reaction," Taub pointed out. "Except...we also just did a history on the patient and she says she isn't allergic to anything in the cookie dough."

House glowered at him.

"So, basically nothing," he repeated, clearly annoyed. "And where the hell is Chase?" His seat was noticeably vacant with Emma standing by the doorway, results of the tox screen still clutched in her hand.

"He left after the results came in. I haven't seen him since," Emma said bitterly.

"He is so fired," House muttered, turning back to face the growing list of symptoms again. His fingers tapped repetitiously against his cane. "Cameron, do you have a better explanation for us? Besides 'not an allergy'?"

Emma glared sharply at him, pushing her body away from the frame of the door.

"The red skin and welts could be the result of contact dermatitis or even ringworm. It wouldn't explain the other symptoms-"

"Which makes the argument pointless," House interjected, his back to her.

"But maybe if we attempt to rule it out-" Emma insisted, a theory forming in her mind. House gave her an impatient sigh.

"Why? So that you can tell me it's 'not ringworm'?" Thirteen leaned forward in her seat, mind spinning with new realization.

"Maybe Cameron's onto something. Maybe there are two different problems at work here," she suggested, puzzling over the symptoms on the white board. House responded with a low groan and threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Fine. Just to prove to you ducklings that you're wrong. Start her on antihistamines and ketoconazole. And when our patient doesn't respond to either one of them, you can come back here so I can say 'I told you so.'"

House dismissed them to consider the symptoms for the hundredth time, always searching for an answer that was not there.

...

The diner was nearly empty, the business beginning to run slowly now that the day was waning into the late afternoon.

Chase sat alone at the bar, an alcoholic drink in his hands. It was his first drink and he thirsted for it after dealing with Cameron.

She had brutally exposed his wounds. She had slashed his heart to pieces. Still, the truth had been dragged into the light, whether he liked it or not.

_It's my fault, _he realized, gazing absently at the wall. _It's my fault she's gone. And she's not coming back. _

A flash of red intercepted his vision and Chase was temporarily removed from his well of sorrow. That waitress...Ruby.

The girl was resting her elbows on the counter, a curious expression on her face. Her crimson lips were pulled into a smile, her red-streaked hair lightly grazing his hand and tickling his skin.

"Are you okay? You seem depressed or something," she asked him, rich eyes locked on his. Chase took another swallow of his drink, emptying the glass.

"I've had worse days," Chase answered, setting the glass on the bar with a shrill _clink!_ Ruby automatically picked it up, her long red nails curling around the edges of the glass.

"Another?" Chase nodded and Ruby hurried off to fetch it.

The musical clanging of the bell erupted through the silence of the diner-someone else was here. Part of Chase prayed it wasn't her-which it could be-and the other half of him secretly wanted it to be her-which he ultimately knew it wouldn't be.

At that same moment, Ruby returned with the drink. Her body stiffened as she met the eyes of the customer behind Chase. Whoever it was, Ruby clearly wasn't too fond of them.

"Madame Mayor," she addressed the customer flatly. Chase did not bother to face the mayor.

In his peripheral vision, there was a hint of gray and black. The mayor was positioning herself on the stool beside him.

"What's this? Drinking on the job?" The mayor's voice was snide and mocking. Chase figured it must have been her regular tone; the mayor seemed to use it often.

Chase was silent. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd leave him alone. Then again, she didn't strike him as the type to take a hint. A soft rustle of clothing and the mayor was shifting closer to him.

"Dr. Chase, you seem to be bothered by something. Anything I can help with?" The mayor certainly did not sound too sincere in her efforts. Chase noticed Ruby wiping down the end of the bar, sneaking glances at the two of them.

"Madame Mayor-" Chase started, but the mayor placed a firm hand on his arm. That hand felt unusually strong, as though capable of inflicting great damage. The fleeting thought was crazy-she was a woman, not a monster.

"Please. Call me Regina," she purred to him, her voice suddenly polite. Something about it rang false, but Chase was too lost in his troubles to discover what it was.

"Regina," he complied, tasting her name on his tongue. "No offense, but it's a personal matter. I don't really feel like sharing," he said, sipping his drink.

"The health and well-being of the citizens of Storybrooke are my main concern, Dr. Chase. Including the strangers that pass through." Regina's grip on his arm tightened slightly, as if she were possessive of him. As if she were making certain Chase was under her thumb, maintaining control over him.

"Yes, well...you have a funny way of showing it on Mary Margaret's behalf," Chase retorted, still refusing to glance her way.

Even without observing her expression, Chase sensed the tension coursing through her body now. Ruby stopped wiping to stare at the mayor with alarm.

Chase imagined it in his mind: Regina's lips would be transfixed in an angry pout, those dark eyes would be cold and piercing to a person's soul. Her hand slid back from his arm, out of view.

"I am not interested in Ms. Blanchard at the moment," Regina coolly stated. "Of course I care about her health. Why wouldn't I? I'm the mayor," Regina practically hissed at him.

It was not meant as a fact, but a reminder. A warning of the power she held in the palm of her hand. If Regina willed it, she could find a means of destroying him, so long as they remained in this whirlpool of a town she owned.

"Something tells me that you and I would not see eye to eye," Chase finally said, gazing at her. Regina was prim as ever in her gray business suit. Not a single stitch out of place.

"You never know until you try, Dr. Chase," Regina did not miss a beat in replying. That suggestive, curved smiled was pasted on her lips again, tension forgotten. Or was it simply a mask disguising Regina's true face?

Chase considered her offer, weighing the pros and cons. How much could he actually trust this mayor?

Those troubles were brewing deep inside him-he needed to talk to someone, other than House or his colleagues. Other than Cameron.

"Regina...have you ever killed anyone?" Chase avoided her eyes, afraid of the emptiness he might find there. Regina was quiet for a long moment.

"If I say yes, does that make me a bad person? Does that make me evil?" The alcoholic drink was starting to get to Chase. His world spun uneasily, the fringes of his vision blurred like frosted glass.

"Not necessarily. You're much too attractive to be that bad, anyhow," Chase complimented her. A second later his mind reeled-was he actually _flirting _with the _mayor?_

Regina's lips smirked pleasantly, her body leaning until it was only a few inches out of his reach. Chase discovered he was drawn to her, like a moth to a dangerous flame.

"Don't the two sometimes coincide?" Her voice was at the level of a whisper, skittering across his skin. With an abrupt snapping of her manicured fingers, Regina signaled Ruby. "Another drink for this exquisite doctor. Now," she snapped, sending Ruby hurrying off as fast as her barely clothed legs would allow.

"And you, Dr. Chase, can tell me all about those troubles of yours. Let's see what I can do for you."

...

Taub and Thirteen fixed Mary Margaret with her treatment silently, both doctors struggling to work out an answer to her sickness.

Mary Margaret was certainly getting worse, much faster than they had anticipated.

Skin pale as snow, eyes bloodshot and weary, and now a deep throaty cough had started up. Even so, her green eyes watched their movements with hope. Their Snow White was placing all her faith in them. _I wonder where Prince Charming is, _Taub thought as he checked over her vital signs.

"Alright. We're going to wait and see if the treatment helps you. Let's hope so," Taub explained to Mary Margaret.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice coming out raw and raspy. Thirteen was eyeing the colorful cards on the windowsill, handmade by the children in Mary Margaret's class.

"Your students really seem to love you," Thirteen said, motioning with her head to the countless cards begging her to get well. Mary Margaret smiled warmly at the memory of those children.

"Oh, they're all wonderful kids. Teaching has been my specialty for as long as I can remember," she said, playing with the golden ring on her finger. Thirteen noticed it and smiled thinly as she perched herself on the edge of the hospital bed.

"Were you married?" Mary Margaret stopped playing with the ring and seemed confused by the question. "You're wearing an engagement ring," Thirteen clarified. Mary Margaret admired it and shook her head solemnly.

"No, I've never been married. I've had this ring..." Her words trailed off, a light blush touching her face. Thirteen once again noted that Mary Margaret could be the equivalent of Snow White-the kid was getting into her head.

"Let me guess: as long as you can remember?" Taub finished Mary Margaret's broken sentence and she nodded. The machine's dull beeping filled the silence.

"You've never had any kids of your own?" Thirteen wondered, brow furrowing as she studied their ill patient. "It's just...you're so good with them."

"No kids, except for the ones I teach. I've always wanted a daughter, though," Mary Margaret mused. "It's silly, really. If I had one, I think I would've named her Emma." Taub and Thirteen exchanged odd glances.

"Is that so? What a coincidence Emma is your roommate," Taub said, the gears working in his head. Something was off with this picture; he just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"I've never noticed before, but you have the same eyes as Emma," Thirteen mentioned, leaning forward to examine them closely. Both of their eyes were the shade of earthly emerald, like newly grown grass in the spring after a morning dew.

"It's strange, isn't it? It'd be even stranger if we were somehow related." Mary Margaret gave a musical laugh that quickly dipped into a monstrous coughing fit. Her fragile frame shook violently with the effort.

All of a sudden, Mary Margaret's head shot up, her green eyes wide and fearful. Gasping sounds escaped her mouth as she tried to breathe. The machine went haywire, Mary Margaret's vital signs rapidly depleting.

In an instant, Taub and Thirteen had jumped up and were lowering the hospital bed until Mary Margaret was blankly staring at the ceiling. Her throat had grown tight and her eyelids were fluttering closed...

"What's going on? What's happened?" Emma appeared in the doorway, Taub and Thirteen blocking her view of the declining Mary Margaret. Taub spun and eyed her gravely.

"Mary Margaret's going into respiratory arrest."

...

**By the way, I kind of used the first chapter (the scene in the bar with Cam/House) as inspiration for the scene between Regina/Chase in the diner. **

**Hope everyone enjoyed reading! **

**What did you guys think of the episode last night? Another two week wait for the next one, though...and it looks like it's goodbye Kathryn (finally)! **

**Poor Mary Margaret, though, being shunned by everyone. /= **

**For the record, I wrote up a one-shot for that scene (where MM is walking down the street being shunned) and now it is a story. Feel free to check it out-it's called **_**The Right Choice. **_

**Until next time, readers! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own _House_ or _Once. _Fox/ABC does. **

**A/N: Okay, just a slight warning: this chapter is LONG! But I tried to make it as good as possible. **

**Good news! My favorite character shows up in this chapter! (= For a price (hint hint!). **

**Again, sorry for the extensive length. This was simply the way I planned out these chapters. **

**By the way, the reviews are amazing as always! Each one stimulates my inspiration all the more. **

**Chapter Eleven **

_It was raining as the ebony horse-drawn carriage reached the ivory black gates of the castle, rolls of thunder pounding in the skies above. _How very fitting, _the Evil Queen mused as she stepped out of her carriage, the raindrops soaking into her inky hair. _

_From this point she was to walk, a thick cloak of magic enveloping the castle and preventing her carriage from progressing any further. The whinny of the horses was drowned out by a fierce clap of thunder. _

_The gate eased open of its own accord as she approached it, the owner already expecting her arrival. The hint of magic clung to her damp frame, the horrid taste of it lingering on her tongue. _

_Powerful and unpredictable, it was a source of magic that she had attempted to extinguish once, though that tack had failed. Even so, it had opened another opportunity for her. That very opportunity was now sulking in her kingdom's dungeon. _

_Just as the gates had done, the massive entrance doors creaked open before her hand could rest upon them. Oh, yes-she was expected. _

_The hall was dim, the heavy drapes once more blocking any light that may have crept across the groaning floorboards. Positioned in the corner was a spinner's wheel, with little straw left to spin. A mirror existed in the corner, covered by a heavy cloth to prevent her spying. An elongated table occupied the center of the room, the chairs vacant and dusty. _

_The Evil Queen smirked as she ran a finger across the surface of the decorative table, her black glove revealing a streak of gray dust. _Love is weakness, _she repeated in her head. _Even for a monster such as him.

_"Where could the powerful dealmaker be hiding today?" Her clipped voice echoed throughout the deserted hall, bouncing off the high ceilings. No answer returned. Irritation consumed her-why must he feel the need to be difficult, to fight against her? _

_"I know that you are here. Let us not prolong the inevitable," she enticed the imp, who insisted on avoiding her grasp. _

_Slipping off her black gloves, the Evil Queen pocketed them and listened for the slightest sign of life. _Certainly he is not away, procuring another pathetic deal...

_"Looking for me, dearie?" The rich, lilting accent rose behind her, though how he managed to catch her off guard, she did not know. Never did she enjoy it when he orchestrated his power. _

_Her deceptive, curved smile fixed on her red lips, the Evil Queen faced the imp whose name would not willingly scorch her tongue that night. Power was a deadly weapon and try as she might, she yielded momentarily to his. _

_"It is clear you have not heeded my advice of replacing the girl you lost," the Evil Queen mentioned, grimacing at the poor condition of the estate in which her adversary resided. _

_Gray-gold skin shimmering in the few particles of light, wide murky eyes devouring her very soul, he gracefully stalked past her to settle before the spinning wheel. Blackened nails thrifted the straw with the wheel, producing glistening gold-a clever act of magic that even she could not hope to imitate. _

_"Oh, come now. You cannot be angry with me forever," she goaded him, eyeing his leather-clad back and only imagining the fierce expression playing across his mystical features. _

_"That, I assure you, I can," he replied smoothly, a single scaly finger raised to acknowledge her words. _

_The Evil Queen sighed with frustration. It would be simple to storm out, to never return to that haunted, empty castle-but what choice remained? _

_"As you may have guessed, I am here to make a deal with you." The Evil Queen skirted along the table, awaiting his cooperation. The wheel paused and abruptly he whirled to her, annoyance radiating towards her like the cruelest of daggers. _

_"Is that so? Here I wondered if you wished to be my dinner partner," he mocked her bitterly. _

_In a swift movement, the imp stood to his feet, the chair kicked away, the crackling of power emanating around him. Genuine fear swept through her for who knew what he was entirely capable of. As much as she detested it, he was the one in control. _

_"What is it the dear queen desires this time?" Akin to a vulture, he circled her with avid amusement, barogue thick as ever in all his fury. Lips twisted in a pout, the Evil Queen spun to face him., throat swelling with emotion at being belittled against her will. _

_"Snow White-" The imp clucked his tongue at her, cutting her off lest she complain all the more. _

_"Snow White this and Snow White that," the imp ridiculed her, a chilling grin splashed across his shadowy face. Pointing a sharp nail at her, those dark lips smirked. "Perhaps, dearie, you should get yourself another husband." _

You should get yourself another girl, _she had shoved that girl in his face the last time she had stood in this hall. The tables had turned-her words were being flung back at her harshly. _

_"I require a personal detail of hers in order to exact my revenge," she brushed off his vile demeanor, strictly business. He lingered behind her, darkened eyes calculating, long fingers steepled under his chin. _

_"Obviously your means of revenge is petty if you traded away my dark curse. Your lack of faith in my power is insulting." A shrill giggle escaped his throat, shivers skating down the length of the Evil Queen's spine. "And what is it you think you can offer me?" _

_The Evil Queen despised this part more than anything else in the dealmaking process, especially where he was concerned. Swallowing her pride, the Evil Queen locked eyes with him. There would always be a price. _

_"What would you prefer?" The Evil Queen was not foolish enough to promise him 'anything', for there were some things she would never part with. A cowering, helpless girl in her dungeon, for one. _

_He pretended to deeply consider it, mischievous smile splitting in two to reveal a row of jagged, yellowed teeth. Leering at her, he practically danced around her with excitement. _

_"A favor will do," he replied in a sing-song fashion, giggling at whatever twisted thoughts spurred his mind. The Evil Queen pursed her lips and weighed her options. "Do we have a deal?" _

_The imp extended a rough hand towards her, patiently awaiting the inevitable. What choice did she have? He understood her turmoil and acted upon it like a musician conducting his instrument. _

_"Deal," the Evil Queen accepted the hand, his grip strong as iron. Heart thudding, it seemed like she had just handed over her soul to him. _

_Lifting her black skirts, the Evil Queen strode past the dealmaker, escaping into the rain without a second glance back. The high-pitched laughter molded with the thunder, trailing her like a veil that would not permit her peace. _It shall be worth it...in the end...

_..._

It was nine o'clock in the morning, according to the clock tower. House was sitting inside Granny's Diner, observing Storybrooke's citizens passing through and puzzling over Henry.

A light breeze fluttered into the diner, matching the silvery chime of the bell.

Ruby rushed in, simultaneously trying to tie her long hair back and fastening the waitress uniform around her waist. A couple of people-mostly men-nodded a hello as she grabbed up a hot pot of coffee to serve.

"Someone's late to work. Wonder why that is," House said to her as she stopped by his table. Ruby leaned farther over the table than was necessary, pouring a steaming stream of coffee into his cup.

"Just paying my rent...thanks to you. The coffee's free by the way, as a token of gratitude," Ruby told him, grinning down at him appreciatively. House sipped the coffee-at least it was good.

"Mind if I ask you something?" House immediately detested the words. Since when did he ask permission to ask a question? Ruby tilted her head at him.

"Depends on what it is you're asking," she lightly replied, eyebrows raised in amusement. House paused, staring out the window. Ruby slowly became anxious, probably wondering if he was ever going to ask his question.

"Who would I need to go to in this town...if I wanted to dig up some information that I may or may not be allowed to have?"

Ruby stiffened, her bright smile slipping at the edges. The hand that was curled around the handle of the coffee pot started to quiver slightly. House had hit a nerve somehow. Interesting.

"I...I'm not sure, really. Maybe you should ask someone else-"

"You're lying," House called her out. His fingers drummed against his cane, which was resting on the seat beside him. "Either you're afraid of the person in question or you think I'll be getting myself into trouble and you want no part in it. Which is it?"

Ruby's red lips thinned into a tense line and she flicked her crimson-streaked hair over her shoulder. Many of the people in the diner were curiously peering at them now, watching the show.

"Both, actually. I don't think I can help you," Ruby stated, walking away. House darted forward and caught her by the wrist. Ruby gasped and stared down at his hand encircling her wrist, surprised.

"How about another month's rent? That is, if you tell me the truth this time," House negotiated, revealing the last of his cash.

Ruby's mouth dropped open-_three months' rent-_and the coffee pot slipped from her hands. It crashed to the floor, the glass shattering into pieces and coffee splashing everywhere. The other people in the diner whirled their heads around, eyes wide.

"Wha...but..." Ruby was incapable of stringing together a single coherent sentence. House held the money out to her.

Ruby's hand instantly snaked forward...and stopped within a few inches of the cash. Her face contorted with confusion and struggle, her fingers nearly grazing the bills. Slowly, her fingers curled into a fist and she retreated from House's offer.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't be responsible for you getting involved with someone like him. It's not worth it. We'll make do with two months' rent," Ruby said as she backed away. House sighed-that had been unexpected.

"Look. Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it. You'd be doing me a favor," House insisted.

The information was there with Ruby; she simply refused to hand it to him. Ruby eyed the money again, her internal battle eating at her.

"Three months without rent. Going once...going twice...two and a half..."

"Okay, okay," Ruby broke down, filling the seat opposite House. The mumble of the diner started up again, though everyone was sneaking glances at their table. "I can't believe I'm telling you this...but there _is _one person who could help you."

"Name? Details?" House asked, not caring for the suspense of the situation. Ruby stalled again, her hands folding together nervously.

"Listen, I really don't recommend-"

"_Name? Details?"_ House repeated in a sharper tone, growing impatient. Ruby rested her elbows on the table, lowering her head towards him to avoid being overheard any more than was necessary.

"His name is Mr. Gold. He runs a pawnshop, but he's the only person who could help you. He's always involved with business deals. Hell, he's the one we're paying rent to. The shop isn't far from here, just up that way," Ruby pointed out the window in the right direction. "Trust me, you can't miss it."

House nodded and slid the money across the table to her. Ruby accepted it, savoring the feel of the money in her hands. It was more money than she and Granny had ever seen in a while. Pity it had to go to someone like _him_.

"But, seriously, I don't think it's a good idea," Ruby protested, tucking the money into her skirt pockets. House stood and retrieved his cane. No sense wasting time.

"I'm not one to consider good ideas," House said before limping out of the diner, leaving behind a stunned Ruby in his wake.

...

The pawnshop was more than fifty feet from the diner and House's leg was starting to ache something fierce. Popping two Vicodin in his mouth, House would have rested against one of the various shop windows if the sign for his destination hadn't loomed into view.

The large overhanging sign simply read: _Mr. Gold's Antiques, _the colors a faded golden. Ruby was right at least-there was no chance of missing it. It beckoned House forward like a siren luring him to his death. An unpleasant thought, but somehow appropriate.

The bell hanging above the door offered a shrill ring as House pushed the door open.

The shop itself was overwhelming; there were dozens upon dozens of items cluttering all available space, causing his eyes to roam wildly about.

There were paintings on display, some even propped on the walls. There was a china tea set in the glass cases, along with other invaluable trinkets. There was a glass unicorn baby mobile, jewelry, daggers, instruments, and bobbles. Hell, there was even a massive-sized boat hovering inches from the ceiling, suspended by wires.

Despite the range of objects, there was only one thing lacking: the owner.

House quickly grew impatient as he scanned the strange items that appeared to have been gathering dust for quite some time.

Approaching the register, House peered over it and drummed his fingers on the glass surface of the display case. The sign on the entrance door was flipped to _Open_, so the owner was here somewhere, lurking.

House raised his cane and obnoxiously tapped it multiple times against the glass display case, alerting the owner to his presence. No sound.

Turning, House neared the glass mobile and observed it. One of his fingers grazed it, the glass unicorns swinging hesitantly back and forth.

It was odd, but the sight of it reminded him a little of Cameron. House reached out to stop one of the unicorns from swinging, her face filling his mind-

"May I help you?"

A rich voice, accompanied by an eloquent Scottish accent, broke through House's reverie. Without warning, the owner was standing near the register, scrutinizing him with amusement.

House gave him the once-over, as he did with most people during first encounters.

The man was lean and smartly dressed in an impeccable business suit. Dusty brown hair framed his sharp angular features.

A grin was dancing on the man's lips, as if he knew something House did not. Slender fingers casually rested on the glass case, though House suspected those fingers would be capable of great measures when the man was provoked.

What struck House most was the man's eyes.

A mystifying shade of brown, those eyes were marked with intelligence. Though intense in hue, those eyes lacked warmth-instead, they were cold and calculating, not unlike House's own.

This was not a man to be taken lightly by any means. No wonder Ruby warned against it; the young waitress must be easily spooked by such an intimidating figure.

"It's about time," House muttered under his breath.

The man's lips lifted an inch or so at the edges-he'd heard very clearly. House suspected that very little passed the man's notice.

"I take it you're Mr. Gold," House surmised, limping closer and leaving the glass case between them.

"That I am," the man answered, dipping his head once slightly.

Mr. Gold watched him like a hawk observing its prey and House struggled to fight for control of the situation. Somehow he was losing-usually _he _dominated the conversation.

"And you would be the doctor tending to the ill-fallen Ms. Blanchard. What can I do for you?"

House's alarms went off in his head at the extent of Gold's knowledge. That inquiring question of his was soft-spoken, yet demanded House's attention.

As House worked to choose his words wisely, Mr. Gold swiftly moved along the glass case to examine the glass mobile that had previously entranced House.

House noted the limp in the man's leg and found it odd that he had not heard the man appear from the back room, even with the presence of a cane. Every movement the man made was somewhat graceful and articulate.

"What happened to your leg?" House motioned to Mr. Gold's bad leg, the same one that contained House's problem. Interesting. Mr. Gold tilted his head and smiled wanly.

"An unfortunate accident," he replied smoothly. House waited, but Gold apparently did not want to elaborate. "What of yours?" House tapped his cane on the ground-two could be evasive in this game. That's what it was: a skillful game of chess.

"Handcuffs, a coat hanger, rope, and an intoxicated stripper. Put those four together and you get your answer."

An awkward silence fell around the shop. One of Gold's eyebrows rose in interest; the man knew House was avoiding the subject.

_It takes a good liar to recognize another equally good liar, _he had said as much to Regina and it was still true of the pawnbroker.

One of Mr. Gold's hands brushed along the edge of a case of daggers, though his eyes remained locked on House. There was never a time that they moved or even faltered.

"As I said, what can I do for you, Dr. House?" This startled House more than anything and instantly caused him to throw his guard up. His hand gripped his cane firmly as he puzzled over it. _How did this man know...? _

"I don't remember telling you my name," House pointed out, eyes narrowing at this suspicious man. Mr. Gold shrugged once and that secret grin widened, hands neatly folded on the display case.

Power clung to his frame like a second skin. Oh, yes, this man held power in the palm of his hand, even more so than Regina.

"I make it my business to understand whom I am dealing with in this town. You would be wise to do the same, I imagine," Mr. Gold stated calmly. Despite that, there was a hint of some other dark nature beneath that facade.

"Is that a threat?" House lingered in the center of the shop, satisfied with the distance between them. Could this man be as dangerous as Ruby made it seem? There was indeed something off about him, something...impish in his behavior.

"Observation," Gold replied nonchalantly.

Retrieving his own cane, Mr. Gold leaned farther over the display case, the air of business surrounding him. House bit his tongue of any sharp remarks-it did not change the fact that he required this man's assistance.

"I'm here to make a deal with you," House said, getting to the point. It was nice to know that even a small town like Storybrooke had its shadier side of life. Judging by the coating of dust, it seemed most residents gave this man a wide berth.

"That's what I figured," Mr. Gold retorted, waiting patiently for House to swallow his pride. "What is it you desire?"

"I need extensive background information on Cam-" House paused, her familiar name almost slipping through his teeth. "On Emma Swan," he corrected. There was his request; now, he simply needed to know the price.

Mr. Gold straightened and headed for the back room, cane in hand. House watched as the man disappeared behind the black curtain and reappeared with a thick file clutched in his hand.

"I may have what you're looking for. Right here," Mr. Gold emphasized, laying the file on the glass display case. House leered at Mr. Gold, eyes darting between him and the manila folder.

"What, are you stalking her?" At first, it sounded like a ridiculous idea, but then Cameron _was_ attractive, even if House himself did not act upon it. And this man _was _suspicious. Mr. Gold smirked at House's blunt expression.

"My intentions are not quite subversive. I have simply taken a rather special interest in Miss Swan," he explained, her name spoken with more enthusiasm than House thought necessary.

House started forward to reach for the file, but Gold deliberately slid it backwards. _Not so fast, _those dark eyes seemed to scold him. House sighed-he had prepared for this obstacle.

"Of course, I would allow you all the information you could desire. For a price," Gold hinted.

Hand on the file, tempting House, Gold waited. The information was right there and he longed for an answer to that puzzling question, no matter the cost.

How serious could the price be? It wasn't as if his life hung in the balance. And besides, House was accustomed to lying to get what he wanted. He'd pore over the information and make the excuse that he was lying when it came time to pay up. And that would be that.

"What's your price?" House would play well-mannered for now. This was his kind of game after all, a game in which House had never lost before.

Mr. Gold seemed to perk up the tiniest bit, with an emotion akin to glee.

"Let's just say...you'll owe me a favor." House considered it for a long moment. That was it? A favor? House was surprised at the lack of depth to this business deal. Yet, Mr. Gold seemed more than satisfied with it. _Well, if that's what it takes..._

"Do we have a deal?"

...

**Uh-oh, House. Getting involved with Rumpel! **

**It is shout-out time to all my lovely reviewers! Here's to LiteraryMuffin, Danik, Kashira1786, Milli, Hameron, and Swarkles. (-; You guys rock! **

**To Swarkles: Don't worry-there'll be more Regina/Chase coming soon. Of course, if Regina gets involved with someone, you can bet she's up to something. **

**To Kashira: I guess this chapter kind of answers your question about Gold, haha. I'm going to include him more after this as well. I am also a slight Gemma shipper, so there might be some hints soon! And yes, House and Gold are very alike when it comes to being manipulative...**

**To LiteraryMuffin: Wow, it's good to see you're also reading my other story! I'm glad you're enjoying both of them! (-; **

**Thank you everyone for reading! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **_**House **_**and **_**Once**_** do not belong to me. They belong to Fox/ABC respectively (hey, that kind of rhymed!). **

**A/N: Hello, all! I'm glad so many enjoyed the last chapter and, yes, Rumpel is my FAVORITE character! (-; For those of you who enjoy him just as much, don't worry-there's still plenty of good stuff to come. **

**Here's to cordisblanco13 (and yes, Emma still owes that favor), Swarkles, travelg, and Kashira1786 (LOL I'm glad you enjoyed Gold so much!). Cheers! **

**Enjoy! **

**Chapter Twelve**

Chase awoke, absent of any particle of clothing, in Regina's bed. Nestled perfectly between her satin sheets with the rays of the golden sun brushing his face. A soft sobbing-that was the sound that had awakened him.

Regina was positioned on the edge of the bed, her flawless bare back facing him, the midnight black hair falling just above her quivering shoulder blades. Regina was crying.

Chase dressed quickly before deciding to occupy the space next to Regina, who was clutching the sheet to her as though it were her saving grace. Was this about last night? Did she regret what they had done?

"It's gone," she murmured, a tear sliding down her face. Chase's brow furrowed in confusion-Regina would say no more.

"What's gone? Did someone break in?" It had been relatively late when Chase and Regina finally stumbled through her front door, lips preoccupied and a master bed that desperately required the presence of two bodies.

There had been no noises during the night besides Regina's soft breathing. In fact, that was the first night in a long time he'd slept well, dreams of Cameron nonexistent.

Regina paused to study him and frantically shook her head, a hand reaching up to wipe away her fallen tears.

"Forgive me. I never meant for you to see me this way. I certainly don't want a good doctor like you getting involved with these troubling matters," Regina said, her voice not as shaky. Chase settled a hand on hers, gazing sympathetically at her.

"Regina, if something was stolen, it's the Sheriff's job-"

"No, please," Regina loudly pleaded him. A release of breath and her demeanor became more controlled, almost akin to the mayor Chase had drank with the previous night. Almost. "Sheriff Swan already has enough on her shoulders dealing with Ms. Blanchard's illness."

Regina stood and crossed to her wardrobe, prying it open to retrieve her clothing. Pausing, she turned back to Chase, a curious question in her eyes.

"You...you were married to her, weren't you?" A tiny sharpness lingered there in her tone.

"Yes...I was," Chase said, recalling how he had ranted to Regina about Cameron, the comfort of a drink in his hand. His night with Regina allowed him to bury those memories for a time, all notions of her forgotten by the time they'd landed amongst the satin.

"Regina, is there anything _I_ could do to help? If you know who stole your stuff-" Regina instantly held up a hand to signal his words to stop. A small smile gently touched her lips, lips that he had claimed not too long ago.

"Dr. Chase, I would hate for you to get into trouble over me. I'll...I'll figure something out," she told him, dressing in one of her black business suits. Regina peered at herself in the elegant full-length mirror, shoulders trembling with the effort of holding back a sob.

Chase strode across the room and carefully smoothed his hands over her arms.

"You are the mayor. How much trouble could I really get into?" Chase reasoned with her and Regina smiled a little more enthusiastically. Chase sighed and raked his fingers through his hair.

Firmly laying his hands on her shoulders, he urged her to spin and face him.

"Tell me what I need to do. Whatever it was that was stolen from you, I'll get it back," Chase promised, wishing that she would stop crying. Regina was silent a moment and then nodded.

With a deep, ragged breath, Regina described to Chase his task. With each detail, his expression darkened with uncertainty, but still he agreed in the end.

"Don't worry. I'll find it," Chase assured her. After making sure she was stable, Chase donned his jacket and left the rather grand house, the details of his dire task clinging to his mind.

...

Regina watched from the bay window as Chase headed for his destination, the black silk curtain obscuring her face.

As soon as he was gone, the pathetic tears dry on her face, she fixed herself a warm cup of tea. With purposeful steps, Regina slipped into her study, closing the door behind her.

Gracefully, she sunk into the chair behind her desk, sipping her tea with a victorious smirk playing on her poised lips. Manipulation was her all-time favorite game-surely the easiest way to convince others to do your bidding.

Setting the cup of tea on her desk, Regina leaned down and opened a drawer. Inside was a stack of folders, mostly business matters.

Lifting the pile, she retrieved the very last file, its tab blank of any markings or identification of the contents. Plopping the file on her desk, Regina slid a sharp nail under the cover and pulled it back, opening the file.

It was a copy of the file, really. It served as a reminder of the purpose of this enjoyable game-her secret ace.

Inside the file was a thin pile of papers, information that she had pored over many countless nights until the details were memorized and locked away inside her mind. No, what Regina was always most interested in was the picture.

The picture of a young girl with lanky strands of hair that was once waves of rich brown and emerald eyes that could shine like sparkling green jewels if allowed.

A girl whose skin was once beautiful and coveted by many, delicate as cream, but was now pale and gaunt. A girl believed to be dead by the one whose heart belonged to her.

Regina enjoyed watching her little ace suffer, reduced to a miserable mass that had long ago given up hope of a better world.

Satisfied, Regina raised the teacup to her red lips and savored a generous sip of tea.

...

Mary Margaret had lost all sense of time since first being admitted to the hospital.

Sometimes when she awoke it would be day, with the slants of the sun bursting through the window. Sometimes, the light would be gray and dim and she would know the time was wasting away. Sometimes, she never even had a clue before drowning in unconsciousness again.

There were tubes stuck inside her, like one of her children's science experiments. Oh, she prayed that those dear kids would not see her like this.

Head spinning, eyes unfocused, Mary Margaret clung to her reality, but it always remained just out of reach, the sleep overtaking her. It was the medicine, most likely. Still, she hated it.

The moments that Mary Margaret most looked forward to was the odd chance of waking up in the early hours of the morning and seeing a warm cup of coffee on the bedside table.

For that token, she mustered up enough strength to swallow some of Ruby's delicous coffee. His name would linger on her tongue with the creamy mixture. _David..._

Oh, why could she not wake up at least once whenever he visited her? Why did sleep deny her the chance of seeing his blue eyes, his charming smile?

Swallowing the last of the coffee, Mary Margaret dropped it weakly into the trash bin beside the hospital bed and immediately sunk back into the drowsy imprisonment of unconsciousness.

Dreams of David swam behind her eyelids, making her smile through the pain in her chest.

...

**So, what did you think? What could Regina be doing now? What could Chase be getting himself into? /= Only one knows the truth...and that's me! Don't worry-all will be revealed soon. **

**I hope everyone enjoyed it. Again, I want to thank the reviewers tremendously along with those who are always favoriting and alerting this story. **

**Until next time! **


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello, everyone! So this chapter might be kind of suspenseful. Lots of good stuff going on so i hope everyone enjoys it! What is Regina up to? What will House's favor be? You'll have to read and find out! **

**Chapter Thirteen**

Taub was committing a most heinous crime in House's eyes-he was writing on the whiteboard. Only House took it upon himself to write on the whiteboard, but he was noticeably absent. And Mary Margaret's health was rapidly declining.

"Dizziness, abdominal pain, burning sensations, welts, difficulty breathing...and now respiratory arrest," Emma ticked off the symptoms on her fingers while gripping the edge of a chair. It frustrated her to no end that she was clueless about what was killing her roommate.

"Yes, we can read," Taub sarcastically retorted, tapping the black marker thoughtfully on his chin while considering the daunting list. "Where's House?"

Thirteen shrugged and Emma's lips thinned into an upsetting line.

"No clue," Emma sighed. "Where's Chase, for that matter?" This was the second time he'd failed to show his face. The last time Emma had seen him was during their argument.

"No clue," Thirteen replied, crossing her arms. Her jade eyes narrowed at the whiteboard. "Whatever this problem is, it's much bigger than an allergy or contact dermatitis."

The three of them lapsed into an uneasy silence, each one struggling to uncover some kind of answer.

"There was also some kind of swelling in her throat. It was unnaturally raw," Taub pointed out as if he just remembered the detail. Emma's brow furrowed with puzzlement. "It could just be a sore throat or it could be an addition to her difficulty breathing. Or...it could be yet another symptom."

"Maybe she consumed something that caused irritation. Or she could have breathed in some dangerous substance," Thirteen suggested. Taub shook his once.

"Yes, but there were no damaging fumes or chemicals in the apartment," he argued, pointing the marker at Thirteen. Extending a finger, Thirteen directed the marker away from her.

"I never said it had to be in her apartment. She could have come in contact with something in town."

Emma's hands whitened the more he clenched the chair, a sudden disturbing thought filling her mind.

"Like the possibility of flammable chemicals diffusing through the air and Mary Margaret being close enough to breathe them in?"

Thirteen and Taub exchanged startled glances and slowly turned to stare at her.

"Possibly. Why?" Flashes of flames and smoke invaded Emma's head. There had been a crowd that night and Mary Margaret had been part of that crowd.

"A few days ago, there was a fire," Emma explained. "It might be possible that the fumes of the fire affected her breathing. Then again, _I_ was in that fire and I'm breathing just fine."

"Were there any others there? Do you know if they're showing signs of illness?" Taub wondered, scrutinizing Emma.

In her mind, Emma pictured Henry, Regina, Ruby, Archie-all of whom had been there. Emma could not recall any signs of sickness; God knew the Mayor was practically invincible.

"Not that I can recall," she admitted. "It's a long shot, but it seems like the only idea we have right now." Taub leaned forward and wrote the new symptom on the whiteboard. Next to it, he scrawled the word "fire" followed by a question mark.

"You wouldn't happen to know what chemicals were involved, do you?" Thirteen inquired, grasping for straws. An unsettling tightness sunk into Emma's stomach. She did not want to thnk about this right now. Still, it was for Mary Margaret's sake.

"No, I don't...but I know someone who does," Emma hinted, the anxious lines on her face growing deeper. Thirteen's eyes lit up with relief and a pleased smile crossed her face.

"Good. If we figure out which chemicals, we have a better chance of ruling it out, and-"

"We can't do that," Emma intercepted flatly. Taub gazed quizzically at her and Thirteen frowned.

"Why not? You just said-"

"Because the person who has that information is also the person who started the fire in the first place," Emma told them, the memory of her angry conversation with Mr. Gold hanging on the fringes of her mind.

_Go ahead. Expose me, _his lilting accent rang through her mind. And she had exposed him. Led around unawares, it was the reason for her title as Sheriff.

"Somehow I don't think he'll be willing to share the information," Emma stated. _At least not without a price, _she thought. She did not want to know what price that would be, what with one favor swinging back and forth like a guillotine above her head.

All of a sudden, the conference room door burst open and House strolled in. Emma crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Where the hell have you been?" House moved into the room and paused when he noted the new additions to the whiteboard. Instantly, his blue eyes traveled to the marker in Taub's hand and he snatched it back.

"I'm the only one who writes on the whiteboard. Remember?" House cradled the marker possessively and Emma rolled her eyes.

"You were late. If you showed up on time, we wouldn't have this problem," Thirteen said, lowering her body into one of the cushioned chairs.

"Where were you?" Emma repeated, studying House and feeling more than a little annoyed with him. House occupied himself with reading Taub's handwriting-messy was a generous understatement.

"Around. Thought I'd check the place out," he replied. "What does a fire have to do with her illness?" House gestured to the word, face scrunching in distatse.

"If you'd been here, you'd know," Emma retorted sharply. House tossed her a dark look.

"You are _so _lucky I can't fire you," he said.

"Lucky for me I quit," she reminded him sourly. "Were you at the diner again?"

House paused, realizing that Emma had just handed him his excuse on a silver platter, even if she was unaware of it herself. This way, he could put off the inevitable, terrible conversation a little longer.

"Sure, let's go with that," he exclaimed, motioning blindly to Emma while his eyes roamed the whiteboard. Emma scowled but dropped the subject.

"There was a fire recently involving flammable chemicals. We think she may have breathed in the fumes and it caused her difficulty breathing," Thirteen quickly filled him in.

"Must have been pretty close to breathe in so many toxic fumes. It's highly unlikely-" House was prepared to shoot down their idea and leave them with a blank slate.

"But not impossible," Thirteen finished. The room slipped into silence as House processed this.

That memory kept swirling around Emma's head. The only reason Gold hadn't been arrested was because there had been a lack of evidence. Instead, he'd brushed the accusation off, inisting...

Wait.

Some detail was tugging at Emma's mind. What had Gold told her?

"No. He told me something else. He said..." Emma's words faded as she attempted to recall Gold's words. Emma had been blinded by anger that night and she'd tuned out most of what he'd said. Now, she regretted it. _What was it? Some detail-_

"Yes?" House encouraged her, expression completely expectant. Finally, it clicked.

"He said that the material that caused the fire was the same as the material used in construction. I'm not sure of the exact way he started the fire, but the remains of the fire haven't been repaired yet. If there were chemicals involved, maybe we can find the answer using a sample of that same material."

Taub and Thirteen gazed at Emma in awe, but House was unfazed.

"Taub, Thirteen. Get a sample and search for any signs of chemicals," House demanded, centering his eyes on Emma. It was time for the talk.

Taub and Thirteen swiftly hurried out of the room. Emma watched House with those green eyes, waiting, knowing there was more to come.

"Theoretically-"

"There is no 'theoretical' with you, House. It's always literal in the end," Emma stated, cutting him off.

House glared at her; she knew his manner too well. In some part of his brain, he realized he missed having her on his team.

_"Theoretically," _he stressed. This time, Emma did not argue, but her lips pursed to show her irritation. "How would I manage to convince you...to go on a date?"

At this, Emma's expression shifted to one that simply read "isn't-this-typical."

"You can't, House. I am not going on a date with you. The only reason I asked for you was to treat Mary Margaret, not reconnect with you," she told him with little regret. Her walls were too thick and strong to tumble now.

House winced slightly at the implication. Even so, the worst wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

"Duly noted," he rested his case on _that _subject, but the true problem was still bubbling. Emma misinterpreted his words as an end to the conversation and she started for the door. "Except it wasn't me I was talking about."

Emma halted in her tracks, suspicion causing her to force her guard up. Slowly, she spun to face House. Instincts were warning her that this conversation was about to turn ugly.

"Excuse me?" It was all Emma could manage to say.

House's face was calm and blank, giving away no hint of the strange intentions under the surface.

"You heard me," he retorted patiently. Emma wanted to walk away-sensed it was better to walk away-but her curiosity was catching up with her.

"Then, who are you talking about?" The moment the question escaped her lips, a name jumped into her mind. Emma prayed that she was wrong. _Let it be someone else...let it be Chase, for God's sake, but please, don't let it be-_

"I'm just asking for someone else. As a sort of a...oh, what's the word?" House mockingly snapped his fingers, as if trying to recall it. "Oh, right. A _favor_."

_Favor..._the word sunk in and clung to Emma's mind. Something...something...there. _Favor. Let's just say...you'll owe me a favor. _

An unforgivable chill seeped into Emma's body. All of a sudden, she knew _exactly _where House had been lurking.

"Oh, my God," she moaned, stomach clenching. "House...you _didn't."_ House's face was still blank, poker face in place.

"If I say I didn't, would you believe me?"

Emma was beyond hearing him. Mouth dry as cotton, air trapped in her lungs, the name of the person in question bounced around her head. Gold. Of all people.

"No," she automatically protested, charging for the door. She needed air. She needed to get away from House before she lashed out. "No, no, no, absolutely _not!" _

The loop of House's cane caught her by the ankle and Emma nearly ended up sprawled on the ground.

"Just give me thirty seconds to explain," House fought with her. Emma dusted off her red leather jacket. With cold, piercing eyes and nerves quivering with anger, she obliged. Literally.

"Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven..." Emma sarcastically counted down. It felt like she was counting down to the moment the bomb in her brain exploded.

House had set her up...with Gold. The beginnings of a headache throbbed against her forehead.

"I didn't mean literally," House complained, taking back his cane.

"Well, that's a first," Emma snapped, fists clenching at her sides. This was the worst thing House had ever done to her, apart from breaking her heart. House sighed.

"Technically, you don't have a choice in the matter," House informed her. The insinuation only served to anger her more.

"Everyone has a choice, right? _I _am _choosing_ not to go through with this. So you can go back down there and renegotiate with him because this is _never _going to happen," Emma thundered, the brim of her anger overflowing.

Logically, she knew it wouldn't matter either way. Gold's soft-spoken, accentuated voice entered her head as a response: _my agreements are always honored. _Not this one.

"I need certain information and I'm not going to get it unless you agree to the date. So...you're going," House declared with finality. Emma crossed her arms in defiance.

"No, I'm not. And what information are you getting from someone like him?" This whole deal seemed horrible and nothing but trouble. House shrugged carelessly.

"None of your business," he evaded her. Emma bristled and strode across the conference room until their bodies were only inches away.

"Yes, it is my business when you throw my name into one of his business deals! I am not going and there is nothing you can do to change my mind, House." Emma backed away, eyes daring him to prove her wrong.

"I beg to differ." House's hand gripped his cane and his crystal blue eyes burned into her. Emma froze. House started forward, gradually circling her. "I'm going to give you an ultimatum. Either agree to the date-"

"Or you'll do what, exactly? Drag me?" Emma challenged him, one eyebrow raised in interest. "I'd like to see you try."

At that moment, the elevator doors in the hall pinged and slid open. Henry dashed out of the elevator, heading directly for Mary Margaret's hospital room. Perfect timing.

"_Or_, I'll tell Henry the truth about his father," House said, resting both hands atop his cane as he traveled a full 360 degrees around Emma.

"House, you don't even know the truth about Henry's father," she scoffed at him. That was when she realized what he meant.

"Exactly, but to your kid, it might sound like the truth. Who's to say it won't cause a rift between you two," House mused, discovering Emma's Achilles' heel. Emma narrowed her eyes dangerously at House.

"You...wouldn't..._dare_," she hissed between gritted teeth.

"Try me," House shot back, the control in his hands. Hatred and anger sparked Emma's nerves. House would make good on his word and she didn't want to risk having to pick up the pieces. Still, the idea of a date with Gold churned her stomach...

House registered her turmoil and spun to lean out into the hall.

"Hey, Henry!" His voice hollered down the hall, tantalizing Emma.

"Fine, I'll go," she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. House grinned with victory.

"Perfect. Oh, by the way..." House lingered close by to lower his head near her ear. "I'd reccommend wearing a red dress." House tapped his cane lightly against her leg before limping away, leaving Emma to silently fume over her latest predicament.

...

The house was less of a house and more of an estate, registered to one Mr. Gold of Storybrooke.

Chase shielded his eyes from the sun as he gazed up at it, wondering again why he was doing this. Regina's broken sobs clouded his mind-he'd promised her he'd return whatever was stolen, didn't he?

Trudging to the front door, Chase checked over his shoulder towards the deserted street, the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Regina had assured him the owner was gone-he owned a pawnshop, after all.

Hurrying, Chase tried the knob and was not surprised to find it locked.

If there was anything he learned from House, it was how to break into a stranger's house with nothing but a simple credit card. It was tricky, but Chase managed to pry the door open within five minutes.

The man was obviously rich. Chase could not help noting it as he peered into the main living area adjoining the narrow entrance hall.

Cautiously, Chase closed the front door, the stained glass window creating a pattern of rainbows on the floorboards.

It was silent, but not overly comforting. Chase started in the direction of the living area, scanning the room for the object described. A heavy, black box. A chest, really.

The box was nowhere in sight. Abruptly, Chase strode forward, intending to observe a crowding of objects with closer scrutiny.

Halfway there, his leg tripped over a wobbly wooden piece of furniture-a table. Resting on it was a group of items, including a chipped cup.

Dangerously close to the edge, the cup rattled on the table and Chase could only watch as it toppled over the edge, falling...falling...about to shatter into thousands of lost porcelain fragments...

Chase bounded forward and caught the cup by the handle with no more than two fingers, inches from the hardwood floor. The cup dangled on his finger and ceased swinging.

A sigh of relief whistled from his lips as Chase set the teacup back on the table. It rocked back and forth a couple of times and settled, the chip facing Chase as though mocking him with the disaster that almost occurred. _Wouldn't have been that big of a deal, anyway. It's just a cup. _

Heart still pounding, Chase scoured the main living area before moving on through the downstairs level. The floors creaked and groaned under his feet.

The box was not in the kitchen, dining room, or bathrooms-and there were plenty of those. Gripping the banister, Chase carefully ascended the stairs to the second level.

The house was enormous in scale-each room twice as extensive as any that Chase had ever even hoped to occupy. The master bedroom was surprisingly bare; no clutter on the furniture, closet organized, bed perfectly made up, complete with black silk sheets.

The last room at the end of the upstairs hall contained the library. Chase's mouth dropped open at the sight of it.

It was massive, possibly the biggest room in the entire estate. Fine, furnished shelves soared high to the ceiling, nearly filled with what Chase imagined to be every book known to man. There were so many that there was a whole other walkway hanging above his head for the higher shelves. It was a book lover's ecstasy.

In the center of the room was a black leather couch, with two matching armchairs on either side of it. A small table hosted a copy of the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe, a satin bookmark wedged between the crisp pages. An elegant marble fireplace decorated the wall to Chase's right, absent of all ashes.

As Chase crossed the room, approaching the fireplace, a board under his foot thumped with a hollow noise. Chase paused and stepped back. Again, he stepped onto the board and again it sounded odd, hollow.

_There's something hidden there, _he realized with sudden anticipation.

Kneeling, Chase rapped on the board to receive the hollow sound again. Try as he might, he could not lift the board with his fingers and there was nothing slim enough to assist him with the task.

Dashing downstairs to the kitchen, Chase found a butcher knife and raced back to the library. With the point of the blade, Chase pried open the floorboard to reveal a deep space beneath.

Leaning the floorboard back, Chase stuck his arm into the hollow space. It was roomy, tunneling under a few of the other floorboards as well. Positioning his body flat against the floor, Chase scrambled for anything that might be hidden there. _Regina's black box, maybe? Come on..._

_Creeeaaak..._

Chase froze, heart jumping into overdrive. That sound was akin to a footstep on a floorboard. It had come from downstairs.

Every muscle was tense as he strained his ears, listening, not even daring to release a breath from his lungs, his arm buried up to his shoulder in the library's floor. Listening...listening...

There was the faintest of clicks-the front door closing.

Fear hammered through Chase as he inevitably understood a crucial detail: the owner had come home.

...

**Uh-oh...looks like Chase is in trouble. And see, I told you guys there might be some Gemma in here somewhere. (-; **

**I hope everyone liked the chapter (including the rather cruel cliffhanger). Thank you to everyone who has reviewed recently-you guys are keeping me motivated to continue writing! **

**Until next time! **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: And the suspense continues...**

**As for the Gemma stuff, I am only hinting at that pairing, but it's unlikely they'll be endgame here. I'm more of a Hameron fan than a Gemma fan, in any case. It's simply for good fun. (-; **

**So enjoy the next chapter and watch as the drama unfolds...**

**Chapter Fourteen**

There was someone in his house. He knew it the moment he stepped carefully over the threshold, could practically sense the lingering presence of an intruder on the floorboards.

Inching quietly into the house, the sunlight streaming in through the open door, he studied the contents of his house, as though able to locate the lasting fingerprints that may rest there.

Not even a breath escaped his lips as he rested the cane against the wall and gradually closed the front door with the faintest of clicks. Every muscle in his body was tense as he remained silent, swiftly crossing to the living area.

The chipped cup.

His brown eyes snapped to it immediately and a deep, unsettling chill seeped into his bones.

The cup had been touched. Its position was not the way he had left it. He would have recalled it for every second his mind roamed over the past, every time that cup was cradled in his hands, that moment was burned into his memory.

Extending a hand, his fingers gently brushed over the porcelain rim and _her_ face swam in his brain, tormenting him.

How dare the intruder even satisfy the urge to lay hands on that sentimental object, even if the person in question were unaware of its precious value. What if it had been taken or..._broken?_

Dropping his hand, he tilted his head slightly to the side, his hair cascading alongside his face. Standing still, waiting, listening for any sign of movement or a clue as to the whereabouts of the intruder.

Oh, yes...the intruder was still here. He could almost hear the rapid beating of their heart, the adrenaline pumping through their veins.

Listening...listening...

_Thump! _There was the softest of sounds disrupting the endless silence. It was like...like a book plopping down on a table. No, that wasn't quite right. But it was close.

It was like...like a loose floorboard falling with a sharp snap back into place.

Smirking at the realization, his head slowly rose to the ceiling and he stared at it as, directly above him in the library, his intruder was lurking and very much overstaying his welcome.

...

The house was dead silent, but the air was off somehow. It was thick, suffocating, tense, and Chase could sense another presence there, waiting for him to reveal his position.

Slowly, without breathing, Chase started to withdraw his arm. It brushed against something hard, the solid edge of an object. _The box. _

Could he manage to remove it without making a sound? Chase doubted it. He had promised he would retrieve it, but then he might get caught by the owner. Not a good idea.

The only thing he could think to do was leave it and inform Regina of its location. Otherwise, neither of them would end up happy. Regina would end up without her rightful possession and he would end up getting shot or something similar.

Reluctantly, Chase lifted his arm out of the floorboard and felt like he was playing a realistic version of _Operation. _Don't make a sound.

Chase's body was growing stiff and was starting to complain about his uncomfortable position. Still, he took his time replacing the loose floorboard. Slowly, he lowered it over the hidden space, praying he could lay it down without a single noise.

A few more inches...almost there...the board was practically in place. Just a little...

_Thump!_

The floorboard plopped down, making a soft sound as it landed in place, hiding the hidden space beneath it. Chase held his breath, heart racing in his chest as the sound rang out amongst the silence.

Even then, he knew he'd made a deadly mistake. _Oh, God. I need to get out. Now! _

The stairs thundered as the owner ascended and Chase did not want to stick around to face them. He feared he would not be given time to explain himself before he ended up wounded or worse. Dead would be worse, certainly.

Chase dashed across the library-there had to be a way out, didn't there? A window, a door, something. _There! _The library had bay windows above, accessed by the catwalk spanning the room above his head.

Frantically, his eyes searched for a ladder, the footsteps bounding along the hallway leading to the library. The ladder was off to his right and Chase nearly jumped on it, climbing it as fast as he could...

Ignoring the burning in his lungs, Chase collided with the bay window, fingers forcing the glass up, the cool mid-morning air whipping his face.

One leg went through and hit open air. The ground loomed below him-two stories below with the house being a grand estate. _Wonderful. Jumping's my only option. _

The library doors burst open and quick steps rushed in. Suddenly, Chase did not mind jumping all that much. Swinging the other leg out, Chase dangled on the windowsill and glanced hesitantly at the ground.

The owner's footsteps hurried up the ladder and he had about ten seconds before getting caught.

Sucking in a breath, Chase slid his body off the window and tumbled into open air, dropping, falling...

His side painfully connected with a low roof and he rolled down before dropping into the air again, this time landing flat on his back on the cold ground.

Stars danced in front of his eyes and an unnatural shade of red blurred the darkness behind his eyelids. The breath had been brutally knocked out of him, his lungs squeezing and shriveling.

Stumbling, Chase forced his body up though it protested loudly in the form of aches and pains. Steadying his stride, Chase sprinted out of sight and did not halt in his tracks until he was a good ten minutes away from the estate.

...

The act of relying on chemicals as an explanation had been tough for Taub and Thirteen, but it was also fruitless: there were very few chemicals to be found on the construction material that would cause the redness in Mary Margaret's throat.

Mary Margaret was even paler when they checked in on her, if such a thing was even possible by now. Barely lifting her head, the tubes spiraling out of her body, the woman was in a fragile state.

"How are you feeling?" Thirteen asked the mundane question and winced-Mary Margaret was obviously feeling ill and terrible. Still, the teacher tried to smile, green eyes no longer dancing with so much enthusiasm.

"I'm...fine..." she gasped, short of breath. Taub frowned down at her and snuck Thirteen a concerned look. Mary Margaret was far from fine and everyone in the room knew it.

"We're doing our best to find the answer. Just...hang in there," Taub informed her. Mary Margaret nodded, eyes narrowing to mere slits as consciousness webbed away from her fingers.

Suddenly, her eyes shot open wide and a hand grasped at her abdomen. Eyes clenched tight, she moaned and dipped her head.

"Oh...it's starting...to hurt again," she told them, nails digging into her abdomen. Thirteen prepared to give Mary Margaret a shot of morphine to ease the pain when her eyes widened and her legs curled under the blanket. "I...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..."

Thirteen's brow furrowed with confusion as she carefully drew the blanket away from Mary Margaret's body. Taub came closer to peer at whatever was making Thirteen anxious.

Mary Margaret was bleeding. A lot. The crimson fluid stained the sheets between her legs and pooled underneath her body.

"Looks like we have another symptom," Taub groaned while Mary Margaret simply allowed unconsciousness to sweep her away.

...

"Why is she bleeding?" House finished scribbling the word on the whiteboard, the list intimidating and lengthy. Emma buried her head in her hands, rubbing her temples and soothing the migraine that was pounding there.

"If we knew that, we wouldn't be so confused, would we?" House paid her no attention as he twirled his cane through his fingers, mind racing.

"Perhaps there's internal bleeding somewhere. Her organs could be starting to shut down," Taub suggested, face grimacing at the idea. It was lucky for them that her organs hadn't shut down before. This would make their job even more messy than it was.

"It could be-"

"I have an idea," House exclaimed, cutting off Thirteen midsentence. "Let's stop thinking about what it _could be _and actually figure out what it _is_. Not one of you ducklings has a clue."

Thirteen and Taub were silent while Emma was flexing her fingers nervously. Taub cautiously raised a finger.

"Actually, I just suggested-" House groaned and knocked his cane against the whiteboard. It was frustrating for the team, but House seemed perfectly content with voicing that frustration.

"Look, we're trying to find an answer, but nothing is adding up," Thirteen said, tossing the medical file on the table.

House recalled something that Thirteen said the previous day. There was a reason nothing was adding up. It spun around his head, refusing to cease.

_Maybe there are two different problems at work here. _

_Dizziness, abdominal pain, bleeding..._

House realized Thirteen was speaking, but his mind drowned her out. This was much more important.

"Why isn't she bleeding?" House asked, his voice ringing out over Thirteen's. The team stared at him as though he had just gone mental.

"Uh, House...she _is _bleeding," Taub reminded him, gesturing to the whiteboard. Emma frowned, wheels turning in an attempt to understand his pattern of thinking.

"Maybe I wasn't necessarily talking about _today_," he replied cryptically. "Why isn't she bleeding?"

House was enjoying the way his team struggled for a satisfactory response. Emma's eyes rolled over the whiteboard, thinking...

All of a sudden, her eyes lit up with realization.

"Oh, God," she muttered, shaking her head slowly as the theory sank in. House pointed his cane to her.

"Seems like the allergy expert has finally caught on," he said, motioning for her to continue. Emma digested the symptoms again, mentally pairing them off into two categories. "Would you care to share with the class?"

Together the symptoms made little sense. When processed as two separate problems, the list appeared in a new light.

"I'll...I'll be right back," Emma mumbled as she strode out of the room, heading for Mary Margaret's hospital room. The soft tapping of House's cane followed her along with the rushed footsteps of Taub and Thirteen.

Once inside the hospital room, Emma aroused Mary Margaret from sleep, green eyes unfocused and wandering wildly about the room. Emma hated to startle her, but this was critical.

Before she could speak, House forced her out of the way and shoved Mary Margaret's clothing upwards, revealing her thin, pale abdomen. Mary Margaret gave a loud gasp, eyes boggling. Emma scowled at House as he applied gel to her abdomen.

"Mary Margaret...when was the last time you had your period?" Emma questioned her while House positioned a screen nearby and studied it closely as he roamed for something in Mary Margaret's abdomen.

Mary Margaret's face became ashen as she realized what was going on.

"Oh, you can't think...I'm not..."

"Your period, Mary Margaret?" Emma insisted, the soft _whoo-whoo-whoo_ of the machine filling the tense silence. Mary Margaret's lip trembled.

"I...I haven't gotten my period yet this month," she admitted weakly. "Is that what the blood was about? My period?"

House paused, eyes narrowing at the screen. A dark image floated back and forth, in and out of view. Emma offered to take Mary Margaret's hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Don't worry. You're not pregnant," House informed her and Mary Margaret let out a ragged sigh. It wasn't entirely a happy one-Emma knew Mary Margaret loved children and would not mind one of her own.

Taub and Thirteen gave House odd, disappointed looks.

"So, then that was pointless. We still don't have an answer," Thirteen surmised, shoulders sulking. Emma shrugged lightly-it had been worth a shot.

"That's not what I said. The nun isn't pregnant...now. She _was_ pregnant. Past tense," House clarified, kicking the equipment away. Mary Margaret's eyes widened and warm tears pooled beneath her eyelids.

"She had a miscarriage. That's the reason for the abdominal pain and bleeding," Emma linked the pieces together. Suddenly, her mind reeled as she recalled Mary Margaret's one-night stand, not even a month ago.

"There's your answer. Congratulations," House sarcastically apraised Mary Margaret before stalking out of the room, moments before Mary Margaret allowed her tears to fall.

...


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Wow, I'm glad so many of you are taking the time to read this story! (-; Well, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter just as much. **

**Chapter Fifteen**

Chase returned to Regina's house still gasping for breath from running. His back ached, his legs screamed in pain, but he supposed he should be lucky he did not break something during the fall.

Regina silently led him up the grand staircase, lips pursed unhappily at the sight of his empty hands. Inside her bedroom, Chase gratefully settled on the bed and Regina firmly closed the door before whirling to him.

"I see you have failed to retrieve my stolen possession," she snapped at him, eyes blazing with dark fire. Crossing her arms, Regina glared down at him.

"I was nearly caught. The owner returned home and I had to leave the box behind. Fortunately, though, I know where he's hidden it," Chase explained, rubbing the kinks out of his neck and shoulders. He hoped Regina wasn't about to ask him to return for the box-there was no way he was intending to go back there.

Regina frowned, posture stiff. Chase sensed the contemplation broiling beneath her attractive features. Finally, she approached her vanity table, the elegant mirror revealing Chase's reflection in the smooth glass.

"Did he see you?" Chase wondered how disappointed she would be if he said 'yes'. At the same time, he didn't want to lie to her.

"I don't know. Probably, though I doubt he caught a glimpse of my face. Maybe you should just ask the Sheriff to retrieve your precious belonging," Chase suggested, groaning as he worked out the tension in his muscles.

In the mirror, Chase watched as creases lined Regina's thoughtful face, anxiety developing her. Her gaze was unreadable as she pondered his words, though her hands gripped the edges of the vanity table.

"No," she whispered, more to herself than to him. Turning on her heel, Regina locked eyes with Chase, a dangerous gleam in the depths of her piercing eyes. "This I will do myself. But first..."

A slow, suggestive smile slid along Regina's red lips as she glided across the room to Chase, her long fingernails caressing his face delicately.

"I suppose I should reward you for your trouble," she purred softly in his ear. Extending a palm against his chest, Regina forced Chase backwards onto the silky bed.

Straddling his body, her lips captured his in a fiery kiss, fingers roaming through his sandy hair and over his skin. Lust soaked Chase's nerves as he succumbed to Regina's will, the pleasurable event of last night repeating itself.

...

Maybe it was due to sympathy, or perhaps it was just guilt. Either way, Dr. Whale stopped by Mary Margaret's hospital room to check on her.

She was awake and aware, which was good since it'd been a struggle for her to remain conscious lately. Even so, her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. She'd been crying.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the door and Mary Margaret glanced up to meet his eyes. A weak smile rested on her lips, her hands knotted together.

"How are you doing?" Dr. Whale took a seat next the hospital bed, trying his best to shove the memory of the one-night stand from his mind. It was his fault she was suffering now, at least partly. It was their child she'd been carrying. _My child, _he thought with bewilderment.

"How do you...think I'm doing, doctor?" Mary Margaret replied sadly, voice breaking and out of breath. It had been a stupid question and he mentally kicked himself for it.

Of course she was feeling horrible-hadn't Mary Margaret said something on their first date about wanting kids? He couldn't recall it clearly; his eyes had trailed too many times to Ruby that night. Ruby and her perfectly tanned legs, bending over the table...

"Sorry. Forget I asked," he mumbled, eyes roaming the hospital room. Desperately, he hoped Mary Margaret did not know the real reason for his sudden wolfish smile.

Gently, Mary Margaret's hand found his and she squeezed it reassuringly. Her skin was nearly ice cold.

"It's not your fault. You didn't know...and neither did I," she said, offering him the easy way out. He could take it; he could get up and walk away right now, forget this moment ever occurred. But Mary Margaret was staring at him with sincere eyes.

"Yes, well...I haven't exactly been the best suitor, have I?" He tried to flash her a charming smile, but somehow failed halfway there. Mary Margaret removed her hand from his. The guilt was eating at him. What would make her feel better? "Uh, maybe after you get better, we could-"

"Dr. Whale," she stopped him. "You don't have to...do anything nice for me. I told you our one-night stand was just that-a one-night stand. There is someone out there for you. You'll find her," Mary Margaret assured him.

Dr. Whale nodded, thinking how he really needed to get out of this hospital. A warm cup of Ruby's coffee would sure hit the spot and perhaps Ruby herself could provide the dessert. He was losing himself in that delicious fantasy-

Just then, Mary Margaret clamped a hand to her mouth and her body buckled forward. Dr. Whale shot out of the chair, trying to deduce what was wrong with her.

"Mary Margaret-" He only had time to speak her name before her head whipped to the side and a stream of crimson blood drenched his shirt. Her body fell back against the bed as he gaped down at the stains, disgusted.

_Guess I'm skipping on dessert, then_, he thought with disappointment as House's team rushed into the room. Dr. Whale did not stick around to watch as an ashen Mary Margaret collapsed back onto the hospital bed.

...

If there was one thing House desired, it was peace and quiet.

With the thick file tucked under his arm, having just held up his end of the deal, House roamed among the streets of Storybrooke searching for a place where he would not be disturbed by anyone.

There was a hint of a trail near Mr. Gold's pawnshop that led into the thicket of woods surrounding Storybrooke. Despite his bad leg, House followed it. Carefully, he would step over branches and roots that threatened to trip him.

The murmur of noise in town faded away and House felt like he'd just been transported to Henry's fairy tale world. There was nothing but the secluded growth of woods around him, the thudding of his footsteps against the cool, moist earth echoing in his ears.

Overhead, bluebirds chirped musically, the sunlight filtered down through the spring green leaves of the trees, and a whisper of wind gently soothed House's skin.

Not far ahead was a clearing, a lengthy log overturned across the path. Lifting his cane, House gradually climbed over the barricade and figured it was as good a place as any to pore over the file.

Stretching atop the log, House plopped the file in his lap and opened it, his curiosity reaching its peak.

There was a bucket load of information-documents, papers, photos, newspaper clippings that had yellowed with age. One close to the top of the pile read "7 Year Old Boy Finds Baby On Side of Road" while another behind it read "Still No Leads On Deadbeat Parents" in thick, blocky letters.

House sifted through, recognizing a few of Cameron's journal articles including the one Foreman stole. House re-read the article, blue eyes dancing over each line; it was undeniably good. Better than Foreman's had been.

A couple of photos caught his attention-professional ones of Cameron and some candid pictures of her in various locations. Some featured a young, dark-haired Cameron while others featured an older, lighter-haired version.

Scrawled in an elegant hand on the back of one of them was the word "savior." Did Gold share the same delusion as Henry, that the supposed world of fairy tales existed?

One picture in particular dragged his mind away from that curious notion-one that showed both him and Cameron.

It was a shot of that marvelous night when Cameron was 18 and only knew him then as a stranger capable of easing her pain of losing a husband. Even then, he had wanted there to be more meaning.

House's throat grew dry and his fingers traced over the photo longingly.

In it, House and Cameron had just left the bar, the neon lights washing over them. One of Cameron's arms was curled around House's neck and his arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her drunken form close.

The two of them were staring at each other, both of them wearing carefree smiles. Cameron's green eyes were wide with wonder, sparkling in the neon lighting, lost in the comfort of the stranger that accompanied her.

The way she looked at him there...House felt a sharp pain charge through his chest. This photo he slipped into his pocket, unwilling to release the memory.

The rest of the documents were pointless-not one clue as to the identity of Henry's father. After Chase, Cameron had never remarried or savored a long-term relationship, not that it mattered. Cameron's one glorious night with him would have been the closest to the time of her pregnancy. But was it him?

Frustrated, House snapped the file closed and sighed. In his mind, he pictured Henry. The boy was nothing like him, at least as far as House could tell.

Edging off the log, the stream of sunlight reflected off some shiny object to House's right. There it was again-somewhere on the ground among the flowers.

With his cane sinking into the rich dirt, House ambled over to the patch of flowers and gradually kneeled down, the loose dirt seeping into his jeans.

Shoving some of the soil away, House's fingers grazed a solid object. It was a handle-but what was connected to it?

As House tugged on it, out slipped a curved, menacing dagger unlike any House had ever seen. Flecks of old blood stained the edges and it glinted in the shallow light of the woods. _Cool, _House thought as he turned the blade over in his hands.

On the other side of the blade, his eye caught a bit of engraved, black writing. It was a name. _Rumpelstiltskin..._

...

**Dun, dun, dun! (-; Nasty cliffhanger, I know. I was always wondering what was hidden there in the 7th episode, and that was one of my theories. **

**And I've decided to give Dr. Whale a little payback for being so rude to Mary Margaret-House style! **

**I hoped everyone enjoyed reading and I want to thank those again that have reviewed recently. You guys are great! **


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Once **_**or **_**House**_**. **

**Chapter Sixteen**

The sun was dipping down into the earth, the red-orange colors and shadows casting over Mary Margaret's sickly form. Skin ashen, eyes closed in restless slumber; she looked so fragile and small lying in that hospital bed.

Emma watched over her anxiously, wishing she could find the answer and make her roommate healthy once more. Poor Mary Margaret...quickly dying of a stealthy disease, one that continued to evade them.

She longed to talk to Mary Margaret, who was always so skillful in listening when it mattered most. Emma desperately needed to unload. What would Mary Margaret say if Emma told her about the inevitable date with Gold?

The hospital room door burst open and the Mayor strode in, a coffee in hand. When she noticed Emma, she pasted on her famous smirk.

"Miss Swan. Does your wonderful doctor have a diagnosis yet? Ms. Blanchard doesn't have much time left, I imagine." Emma glared pointedly at Regina, who frowned in response. Regina was so sure that House would fail to treat Mary Margaret.

"Actually, _Madame Mayor, _House thinks it may be lymphangioleiomyomatosis," she replied, somewhat showing off with her medical jargon. In all actuality, Thirteen had been the one to come up with the theory.

Regina blinked a couple of times-obviously she had no clue what that meant. Good. A smug smile crossed Emma's lips.

"It's a lung disease. The symptoms include bleeding, coughing, chest pain, and difficulty breathing-all of which Mary Margaret currently has. His team is testing for it as we speak." _So there. _

Regina crossed further into the room, avoiding Emma's eyes. Apparently, the Mayor did not enjoy the fact that she was not in control of the conversation.

"So then I expect Ms. Blanchard will be improving soon. If you ask me, the woman looks about ready for the coffin," Regina commented, setting the cup of coffee on a nearby table. Emma scoffed audibly at her.

"Last time I checked, I _didn't _ask you," Emma snapped back, making the Mayor blanch slightly. Regina was good at putting on a mask, however. Quickly, she maintained her calm demeanor and poised collectivity.

"Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for your date, Miss Swan?" It was Emma's turn to be caught off guard, fist clenching tightly. "Oh, yes. I know all about your little date with Mr. Gold. Funny, I never pegged him as your type, but I suppose wonders never cease."

Anger and irritation coursed through Emma. How she wanted to wipe that smirk off Regina's face. Another small voice in her head reminded her: Regina was only taunting her to stimulate that reaction, to get under her skin.

"Don't you have a kid to take care of? Of course, if you can't handle it, perhaps I should take him off your hands," Emma retorted sharply. She hated dragging Henry into this, but since they were hell-bent on pushing each other's buttons...

A flash of annoyance streaked through Regina's dark eyes and her fingers curled unpleasantly, the sharp nails digging into the palm of her hand and creating half-moons in her skin.

"I'd appreciate it if you left _my_ son out of this," Regina snarled, emphasizing her possessiveness of Henry. Cheap shot. Emma tossed the loose strands of her blonde hair over her shoulder and returned Regina's cold gaze.

Why was she even insisting on adding fuel to the fire? Like her-God forbid there be a similarity-Regina never backed down. She was like a raving dog that did not know when to quit barking.

For Henry's sake, Emma would be the better person. She would bite her tongue-quite literally, it seemed-and walk away.

"House will cure Mary Margaret. You can bet on that," Emma told her before heading for the door. The answer was there. Like a needle in a haystack, they simply needed to find it.

"Speaking of taking things off your hands," the Mayor's snide voice called her back. Emma paused in the doorway, not bothering to turn around. Waiting. "That ex-husband of yours is a nice catch. Honestly, why ever did you give him up?"

The insinuation struck Emma in the gut. Regina and Chase...the mental image was disconcerting, if not a little disturbing.

It always meant trouble whenever Regina sank her hooks into someone. Graham had been proof of that. And Chase had been mysteriously absent from the hospital lately. Regina and Chase...

_Why ever did you give him up? Why, Regina, don't you know? My dear husband killed someone. But I'm sure you have plenty of skeletons in your closet as well. _

Instead of responding, Emma decided to leave in silence. She could practically feel Regina's smirk burning into her back all the way to the elevator.

...

Emma was sitting cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, scrunching her nose at the choices of outfits in front of her. It wasn't that the outfits were hideous-it was that the outfits looked too good. And that was somehow even worse.

The only sensible dress her belongings contained was the skin-tight, curvy red dress that she had worn the night Henry found her. There was still a slight stain on the hip from where that jerk dumped the table and food on her, but it was barely noticeable after bringing some soap and water to it.

Emma scowled and threw the dress on the floor. She almost felt like sticking her tongue out at it.

Frustrated, she buried her head in her hands. What was she going to do? Why was House forcing her to go through with this? All for some stupid information.

Sighing, Emma knew there would be nothing reasonable in Mary Margaret's closet. Lifting the red dress again, Emma glanced at the clock for the hundredth time that evening-nearly six-thirty. The date, according to House, was at seven.

Maybe she could disappear off the face of the earth. According to Henry, she was the only one who could leave Storybrooke.

No, she refused to act as a coward. That was not in her nature by any means. She may completely loathe the date, but she would go through with it. _Half an hour...better start getting ready. God knows there'll be no arguing with him. _

...

The knock on the door came almost exactly at seven. Emma groaned and gulped down a glass of wine to calm her nerves. Black heels clicking across the floor, Emma pulled open the door, a distinctive frown on her lips.

Mr. Gold was waiting patiently, dressed in a crisp black suit with a red dress shirt underneath. To Emma's dismay, she found their outfits somewhat coordinated. _How lucky for me, _she thought sourly as she smoothed down her dress.

"Emma," he greeted her, his brown eyes taking their time devouring every detail about her. Her stomach twisted as his eyes slowly rose back to her face. "I must say, you're looking quite...beautiful."

Emma crossed her arms over her cleavage and grimaced at him.

"You know I don't want to do this," she stated, hoping for a slight chance at renegotiating. There was a small smile playing on his lips. The man was actually enjoying her discomfort.

"Unfortunately, my dear, you don't have much choice in the matter," he reminded her, extending a hand to her. She ignored it.

"How about if I just owe you another favor and we forget about the date?" To Emma, that sounded reasonable. What was two favors when she already owed one?

Mr. Gold laughed darkly and shook his head once.

"I'm afraid not, dearie. You already owe me a favor. I would hate to...frustrate you...with two," he said, catching a piece of her blonde hair that had fallen loose. Emma slapped his hand away and he smirked at her. "Besides, I've been looking forward to our date."

"That makes one of us," she mumbled before closing the door behind her. She was not about to play nice for him. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

Emma started heading down the hall, with Mr. Gold closely following her, the tapping of his cane drumming in her ears. She could practically feel the grin sliding over his face.

"As you wish, Miss Swan." Emma's body grew tense and her nails dug into her hands as she curled them. She made a mental note in the back of her mind to murder House when this "date" was dealt with.

...

**Just a simple chapter for now. I'm sure Gemma shippers will enjoy the date (nothing serious, though), but don't worry-other good stuff will be coming besides that. **

**I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! **

**And it's also time for shout-outs! I want to thank Danik, Hameron, and book-sage for their reviews last chapter. Thanks so much, guys and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. **

**Also, a thank-you to Socratic Irony and Swarkles for reviewing recently as well. (-; **

**Until next time, readers! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Well, this is something of a long chapter. There is some hinting of Gemma, for those of you who ship that particular pairing. Don't worry, though, it's not all Gemma. Just some. (-; **

**A shout-out to the reviewers! I want to thank Hameron, Swarkles, and Socratic Irony. I always love to know that someone is enjoying my story! **

**Without further ado...the next chapter!**

_**Chapter 17**_

He was driving along the outskirts of Storybrooke, the forest a blur of dark greens outside the window.

Emma didn't have a clue where he was taking her, but she was hating it more with every passing second. The further they delved into the surrounding forest, the further from civilization they existed. It wasn't a comforting thought for her.

Emma positioned her body so that it was far from him as possible, her forehead resting against the icy glass of the window. Even then, she could sense there would be an amused smirk on his lips.

"Where are we going?" She couldn't take it anymore. Mr. Gold glanced at her and then away again.

"Good things come to those who wait," he answered, which wasn't much of an answer at all. Typical. Emma sighed and slipped back into silence, anxiously raking her fingers through her blonde hair.

The trail seemed to go on forever, the darkness of the woods around them increasing until she thought it would swallow them whole. The milky headlights only illuminated a foot or so ahead. _I'm alone in the woods with a creepy pawnbroker. In the woods where no one can hear me scream. _

Finally the path broke open into a clearing, a small cabin looming into view. Emma's widened in disbelief and then narrowed with skepticism.

"A cabin?" Mr. Gold brought the car to a full stop and gazed at her. "Why?"

"I own it," he responded, retrieving his cane from the back seat, leaning much too closely towards her in the process. Emma frowned and slid farther away.

"You own everything in Storybrooke," she reminded him, much to his apparent satisfaction. Mr. Gold grinned down at her, unwilling to move away despite having the cane in his hands.

"Precisely, Miss Swan." He stepped out of the car. _He owns everything...including me,_ it seemed to her, with her favor hanging over her head. A troubling thought.

Mr. Gold opened her door and waited for her to step out. She refused at the moment. "To answer your question properly, I figured this would be a quiet enough spot for such a delicate occasion. Please," he gestured for her to get out.

_What are you going to do? Drag me? _The same words she'd said to House. Only she could imagine Gold actually dragging her from the car. Might as well save a little dignity.

Emma reluctantly slid out of the car. A small breeze rustled the leaves and trees, sending a light shiver along Emma's arms. He must have noticed.

"Cold?" Emma glared at him, trying her best not to shiver again. She did not expect to find any sort of comfort from him.

"I'm fine," she insisted, rubbing her arms the slightest bit. Mr. Gold obviously saw through her mask, offering her a knowing look.

"Of course you are, dearie." Emma shot him a warning look, sensing there might be another implication there. Narrowing her eyes, she strode into the cabin, not bothering to wait for her "date" to catch up.

Once inside the cabin, Gold firmly closing the door behind him, Emma surveyed the damage. A couple candles here and there, including an impressive fireplace. As she watched, Gold started a warm fire, stoking it until the flames crackled.

Near the fireplace was a leather couch, which Emma glared at spitefully. In the center of the cabin was a sturdy table, set with plates of food and a bottle of wine for the occasion. The sight of it, awaiting them, made Emma's stomach hurtle in nine different directions.

"Have a seat, Miss Swan," Mr. Gold instructed her, respectfully pulling out her chair for her. Emma hesitated for one minute before reluctantly settling into the chair.

Mr. Gold lingered behind her. One of his hands brushed along her shoulder and squeezed-_do behave, dearie, _he seemed to tell her. She had to abide by the terms of the agreement. _Remain good company. Yeah, right. _

Mr. Gold occupied the seat across from her, his smirk taunting her. Emma clenched her fists under the table.

Distracting herself, Emma eyed the food before her. There was a silver tray in the middle, the kind that waiters in black and white uniforms carried around in fancy restaurants. Gold lifted the cover to reveal ham and steak, the steam still rising into the air. There was a bowl of salad off to the side, next to a bowl of soup. Emma raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"Really? What's for dessert?" Immediately, she wished she didn't ask. A dark gleam flashed through Mr. Gold's brown eyes.

"The one detail that slipped my mind...unfortunately. Perhaps I could make up for it some other way." A shiver ran along Emma's spine at the double meaning in his words. _Not in your dreams, Gold. _

Silence was Emma's best tack, lips drawn into a thin line. Mr. Gold laughed darkly at Emma's discomfort as he casually reached across the table to offer Emma some food. She started with the salad and soup while Gold watched her with amusement.

"House wanted some information from you. What was it?" _He at least owes me that much, _she thought bitterly, pushing some of her salad around with her fork. Mr. Gold steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

"My dear, I am not in the habit of discussing my business deals. And I daresay it is inappropriate conversation for our...date," he replied smoothly, irritating Emma. Dropping the fork with a clatter, Emma glared across the table at him.

"I hardly call this a date if I'm being forced into it," she retorted, not bothering to hide her distaste. It was better than giving Gold the wrong idea. Calmly, Mr. Gold poured two glasses of wine and sipped his delicately.

"You had a choice, Emma. You ultimately chose to agree to this date." Emma took her glass of wine and abruptly stood up. Turning her back on Gold, she crossed to the fire and stared into the embers, annoyed beyond belief.

There was a screech as Gold's chair moved backwards and soon he was standing very close behind her. Lightly, his fingers curled around her arms and Emma wrenched away from his grasp. Some of the wine spilled out of her glass and splattered across the floor.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, backing away a good few feet. Mr. Gold merely tilted his head at her, watching her. Always watching. How she wanted to leave the cabin and to hell with the consequences.

"Tell me, dearie...are you armed?" Emma stiffened, trying to prevent her eyes from roaming to the clutch purse she had brought along, which she had foolishly left on the table. Her green eyes faltered for a second and Gold glanced knowingly at the bag. "I'd be surprised if you weren't armed, given my most recent actions."

"You started a fire. You could've killed me and Regina, or at least seriously injured us," Emma snapped back at him. The mention of the fire also served to remind her what kind of man she was alone with. Dangerous, manipulative, unpredictable...

"You don't trust me," Mr. Gold surmised, giving her a dark look. Emma crossed her arms, face blank, the glass of wine in her hand forgotten.

Mr. Gold swiftly strode over to her until their bodies were only inches away. One of his hands caressed the side of her face, down to her jaw and Emma craned her neck away from it.

"You don't trust me, but just know that I would never hurt you...Emma," he softly assured her. It did not ease her doubts in the slightest. "As I've told you, I'd prefer to have you on my side."

"What do you want, Gold? Why did you insist on this?" Emma absently waved her hand towards the table, where their food was growing cold. Gripping his cane, Mr. Gold leered down at Emma and chose his words carefully.

"I think it's time I called in that favor, Miss Swan."

...

The car pulled to a stop in front of the town's city hall, which housed Regina's professional office, among other necessities. Emma felt a sinking sensation in her stomach.

"What are we doing here?" Emma gave Gold a sidelong glance as he settled back in his seat, grinning cleverly at her. She had yet to be given any details on her "favor."

"You, Miss Swan, will need to gain access to that building. What I want is inside the Mayor's office," he explained vaguely, weaving his long fingers together. Emma arched an eyebrow. _Is he serious? _

"In other words, you expect me to break in and steal something from Regina?" Maybe she could get out of the car and walk home. Would he try to stop her? Fingers roaming over the bag in her lap, she traced the bulky outline of the gun inside.

"Put in simpler terms...yes," he replied, leveling his strong gaze at her. The lights inside the building were nonexistent, the Mayor having left hours ago. _No way. Absolutely not. _

"I'm not doing anything illegal, Gold. You'll have to find some other use for your favor," she shot back, showing no sign of wanting to leave the interior of the car. Mr. Gold leaned towards her, but she didn't so much as flinch.

"Very well, Miss Swan. I'll give you an ultimatum. Either you accept this task...or you allow me to kiss you."

Emma blanched visibly when she heard this, eyes boggling. Mr. Gold waited patiently while she could only imagine the pawnbroker taking advantage of her.

"I'd rather go to jail," she muttered. Mr. Gold appeared disappointed only for a split second before nodding and distancing himself in his seat. Images of him kissing her still roamed through her head and she grimaced.

"Then it seems you've made up your mind, Miss Swan." Emma clutched her bag and found she was actually curious about the object Gold so desperately wanted from Regina's office.

"What is it you want me to find?"

...

Stealthily creeping across the grass, Emma approached the entrance doors of the grand building. _I can't believe I'm doing this. Still, better than having his tongue shoved down my throat, _she thought, wincing at the disturbing images. _It'll take me forever to get those ideas out of my head. _

Sliding up to the door, Emma tried the knob-locked. Of course. Bringing her elbow back, she slammed it into the glass window, shattering it to pieces. Her skin was scraped, but that didn't matter as she unlocked the door.

The alarm was whining through the building. She probably had a good five minutes or so before Regina showed up to investigate. Ten if she was lucky.

Bursting into Regina's office, the decor classically black and white, Emma immediately strode to the large fine wood desk. The drawers were unlocked and slid smoothly open for her. Papers, documents, irrelevant files...

The second and third drawer were also empty of anything useful. Emma scowled and reached for the bottom drawer to her left. More files.

Emma was about to close the drawer when she caught sight of the last file sticking out from the bottom of the pile. The tab was blank. _Why would that be? _

Edging it out, Emma slapped it onto the desk and flipped it open. _Jackpot! _Mr. Gold had said to search for a file of a girl with green eyes, shoulder-length brown hair, with the possible last name of French. It was here, in her hands.

_Isabella French...committed to the psyche ward for evaluation...harmful to herself, suicidal tendencies...what does Gold want with her? _

The alarm's screeching broke through Emma's prying, reminding her that time was limited. Grabbing up the file, Emma returned everything to the way it was and rushed back to Mr. Gold's car.

Once seated inside, Emma handed over the file, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

"My favor is paid." That was when her beeper inside her bag went off. Scrambling for it, Emma glanced at it and froze in her seat. There was something terribly wrong with Mary Margaret.

...

**Uh-oh...what's wrong with MM? You'll have to wait and see! **

**I hope everyone enjoyed reading the chapter. **

**For those Gemma shippers out there, I'm thinking I'll do a one-shot to accompany this chapter, where Emma makes a different choice for her favor...(-; We'll see, though. **

**Just for the record, the cabin is the same one from the tenth episode. I figured since it never mentioned who owned the cabin and since Gold practically owns everything, why not own the cabin? (=**

**Well, until next time, readers! **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hello, there! This is kind of a long chapter for you guys. So I hope you enjoy it. (-; **

**Also, I want to thank yuiop and Hameron for the reviews. It's always nice to hear what my readers think and see how much they're enjoying the story. **

**Chapter 18**

The fog was growing thicker around Mary Margaret's mind. Pinpoints of light flashed before her eyes—sometimes the shifting sunlight, sometimes a blurred movement—and then her eyelids shielded her eyes once more.

Whether it was day or night, Mary Margaret hadn't the tiniest inkling. Warbled voices bounded over her body, but her ears could not make sense of them. The words jumbled together, sounding no more than hopeless garble.

Everything hurt, but her lips would not open to inform the doctors. The doctors…the one with a number for a name was really nice, she recalled. Oh, if only her brain could process it instead of feeling like mashed potatoes.

Her eyes ached, as sore as if someone had given her a black eye or two. Gradually, they slid open, but the sudden burst of light blinded her, causing them to shut again.

_Try….open them…._Mary Margaret encouraged herself and this time her eyes shot open wide. The room spun as they adjusted.

At the end of the bed were two figures. The doctors. They were talking in hushed tones. When she groaned, the two of them turned to study her with looks of relief.

"Hey, there. You've been going in and out of sleep lately," the girl told her. The one with the number for a name. Thirteen, she suddenly remembered. The girl's jade eyes were concerned as she obviously waited for Mary Margaret to tackle speaking. Her throat was as dry as sandpaper and burning as if she'd swallowed fire.

"Wha…time…izzit?" The words tumbled sloppily from her mouth, but Thirteen smiled reassuringly nonetheless. The other doctor…Taub checked his watch.

"It's almost nine," he said, resting his hands on the guardrail of the bed. Mary Margaret attempted to move her body—even so much as a finger—but every muscle felt numb. Thirteen noticed her concentration and turmoil.

"You'll need to give it a moment. You've been asleep for so long and the change in medication has probably made you drowsy," she explained patiently. "Don't give up, though." Mary Margaret focused on that finger and wiggled it a couple of times.

"There you go," Taub praised her before glancing back down at her medical chart. Anxiety poured through her despite the effort. She was still sick.

"What's wrong…with me?" The words were much stronger that time, though it left her gasping for breath. If her lungs hadn't felt so papery thin, she would have unleashed a string of coughing. It came out as a wheeze instead, the rest of it bunched up in her throat.

Thirteen leaned forward to answer her, lips pulled in a thin line.

"We thought it may have been a type of lung disease…but the tests were negative," Thirteen said, eyes wide with remorse. Mary Margaret's fingers clenched the sheet of the bed.

"So…you don't…know…what's wrong?" Taub and Thirteen frowned down at her. These doctors did not know what was causing her suffering, but they were the only ones she could depend on.

"I assure you we're doing the best we can," Taub insisted, nodding solemnly. Mary Margaret's eyes closed, her fingers relaxing. "Hey, stay with us now," Taub urgently called out to her.

"You…keep saying that. Where…Where's Emma?" Mary Margaret forced her eyes open and glanced around the room for her. She needed to hear it from her. Thirteen and Taub exchanged unsure looks.

"She's…she's on a date, actually," Taub reluctantly told her. "But she's trying the hardest to figure out what's wrong." Mary Margaret didn't doubt it for a second. It was Emma's way, to fight for the weaker ones.

"With…who?" Mary Margaret could not see Emma willingly going out on a date, especially with anyone in Storybrooke. Graham had been the only one she'd shown interest in, much as Emma tried to deny it.

"With someone by the name of Mr. Gold," Thirteen replied, much to Mary Margaret's bemusement. She stared at her in shock. _Oh, Emma. What has she gotten herself into this time? I should be there for her, but I'm lying helpless in this hospital bed. _

A sharp tightness clenched Mary Margaret's chest. It was getting difficult to breathe. Mary Margaret's eyes threatened to roll back into her head and a shrill beeping had pierced through the room.

"She's going into cardiac arrest," Thirteen announced as Mary Margaret felt the bed being lowered and tendrils of shadows blurred her vision. "We need a crash cart in here!"

Everything was fading, starting from the feeling in her fingertips and ending with the hearing in her ears. She had the sensation of floating out of her body as the doctors strived to help her.

"Get..Emma…phone…let…know…going…on," Taub's words were hard to hear. The room spun, the ceiling above melting into nothingness, the pounding of blood in her veins drowning out the shrill beeping…

Just a single fleeting thought remained before the tide of inevitable darkness swept Mary Margaret away.

_I'm dying. _

…

The call unexpectedly came in: someone had broken into her office. She'd have to stop there before continuing in her task tonight.

It was quiet, with only Chase's deep breathing interrupting the night.

Regina waited until she was sure he was asleep before gradually slipping out of the bed and donning her clothes, discarded carelessly across the floor.

The moonlight poured through the window—it was nearly nine. _Time flies when you're having fun, _she thought gleefully, observing Chase's sleeping form.

She hadn't lied—he was a fine catch and she did enjoy his presence in her bed, if only for manipulative outcomes. But Regina searched her soul, her scorched blackened soul, for anything remotely signaling a warm sensation, a drop of likeness or attachment for her new lover. Nothing.

What had she expected? That she could trick that emptiness into filling the void? It was a curse that was bent on destroying her, if she let it. _But that curse will be broken tonight, _she vowed.

Bare feet creeping across the floorboards, Regina swiftly crossed to the bedroom door. Hesitantly, she glanced back at Chase's still body, laid a hand on the doorknob, turned it, and—

A rustling of silk covers and a creaking of the bed springs sounded behind her. Her hand paused on the doorknob, the door ajar by an inch. Chase moaned and sat up in bed, the moonlight illuminating his bare chest.

"Regina? Where are you going?" One of his hands was rubbing at his eyes sleepily. Regina exposed her best smile.

"I'm taking back what is rightfully mine." With that, Regina strode out the door, setting out to reclaim her stolen belonging, an item of which was gravely important. As a matter of fact, Regina's life depended on it.

Chase watched her go, ready to sink back into blissful sleep. Before he had the chance to lay his head on the pillow, his cell phone rang. His presence was needed at the hospital, for their patient was hanging on the precipice of death.

…

His mother thought he was asleep, but he was wide awake. Eyes closed, he listened to the hard pattern of tapping of her heels on the stairs—she was leaving.

Henry heard the front door open and firmly close with a shallow click. A minute or two later, a heavier set of footsteps rushed down the stairs—her boyfriend was also leaving. He was alone.

Henry threw back the covers and instantly sat up. He was already fully-clothed in a sweater and jeans; all he had to do was slide his sneakers on. Grabbing his book, Henry wrapped himself in a coat and dashed down the stairs. He had to see Mary Margaret, had to make sure she was okay.

Whatever was wrong with her, he was sure it had something to do with the Evil Queen. She was Snow White after all and the Evil Queen's sworn enemy.

Henry had a scary thought that things were only about to get worse. He knew he had to get to Mary Margaret, before it was too late.

…

**Okay, so that was mostly filler, but I already have the next few chapters written up. I'll probably update again within the next few days (did I mention I was on spring break? Yay!). **

**By the way, what did you guys think of the latest OUAT ep? I thought it was at least better than Dreamy, but I won't give away any spoilers for those who haven't seen it yet. **


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hello, everyone! This chapter is much more dramatic. Well, on to it, then! **

**Chapter 19**

Emma's heart was racing as she made it to Mary Margaret's hospital room within three minutes of Thirteen's haunting phone call. Mary Margaret had gone into cardiac arrest. And they were still trying to revive her.

Dashing into the room, sliding uneasily on her heels, she watched as Thirteen positioned the paddles over Mary Margaret's chest and shocked her heart. Mary Margaret's thin body leaped into the air, but the machines still claimed she was dead, completely flat-lined. _Oh, God…_

"Whoa," House breathed in amazement at Emma, his eyes traveling up and down over the curves of her body underneath the red dress. She shot him a look that warned him this was not the time. "That looks even sexier than the last red dress you wore."

"House!" Emma shouted, her anxiety and annoyance overflowing.

Sweat collected on Thirteen's brow as she prepared to shock her for the umpteenth time. There were only so many times they could attempt it before declaring the patient dead. That was the last thing they wanted to happen.

Taub was adjusting the paddles for her again and another shock went into Mary Margaret. The machines did not cease their endless beeping.

Emma felt a cold chill seep into her bones as her eyes stayed glued on Mary Margaret's frail body. Closely behind her, she could sense Mr. Gold watching her as she clenched her fists tightly by her sides.

House was observing the whole situation as if it were an interesting drama show, but refused to lend a hand. Instead, he leaned against the wall, cane in hand.

_What is wrong with you? Do something,_ Emma wanted to scream at him. This was not just some other patient at Princeton-Plainsboro. This was her roommate, her friend…Mary Margaret.

A shuffling of feet paused at the doorway—Chase and Henry stood there, gaping at the scenario. Henry's face was crushed, eyes wide with fear as his teacher lay still and pale on the hospital gurney, lips beginning to turn blue. _Oh, Henry,_ Emma felt a sting of longing for him as the kid rushed forward, tossing his book aside.

"No! She can't be dead! No," he screeched and Emma grabbed ahold of him, bringing him close to her and embracing him.

Henry buried his head in her stomach, her fingers raking comfortingly through his brown hair. Warm tears burned beneath her eyelids as Mary Margaret refused to return to the land of the living.

"Oh, Henry…don't look. Oh, kid," she gasped, holding him tightly.

A slow ache traveled through her body. Thirteen shocked Mary Margaret's heart again and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Nothing. House forced his body off the wall, unfazed by the grim scene before him.

"Thirteen…stop," he commanded her before she set the paddles over Mary Margaret's chest once more.

The machines droned on, the patient flat-lined. Emma desperately willed the machines to show a sign of life, to let them know that Mary Margaret was not gone. _Please…bring her back._

"Again," Thirteen demanded, fixing the paddles and refusing to stop shocking Mary Margaret. Taub dipped his head, knowing that the chances of bringing Mary Margaret back were decreasing. Chase sighed and touched Emma's arm, but she shook it off. It wasn't over yet. "Emma…I…"

"Again," Emma told her, begged her. Thirteen set the paddles up while House checked his watch, a stony expression on his face.

"I'm calling time of death," he announced, tapping his cane against the ground as he did so. Henry sobbed into Emma's dress, the wet tears leaking through. Immediately, she whirled to glare at him.

"No! We're not done yet. Again!" Thirteen hesitated, but started to position the paddles again. Emma had the sudden thought that Mary Margaret appeared exactly like Snow White in Henry's book while lying in the glass coffin—not a pleasing thought. The room grew tense as Thirteen tried again and again.

"Time of death…9:07 p.m." House declared, much to the chagrin of Henry and Emma. Thirteen shook her head, preparing the paddles again. House narrowed his eyes at her.

"Thirteen, stop. It's over," he said flatly. One last time…Thirteen shocked Mary Margaret's heart and everyone waited. There was endless beeping and then—

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

"She's back," Emma breathed with wonder and relief. Henry's head shot up as Mary Margaret's chest gradually rose with a breath, though her eyes remained closed. "She's alive."

Thirteen dropped the paddles and smiled with relief, brushing long brown strands of hair from her forehead. The only one who did not seem entirely pleased was House.

Shrugging, he gestured to Thirteen and Taub, ignoring Chase completely. Chase was simply lucky he didn't get fired for disappearing for so long.

"Make sure she's stabilized. Then we can shoot idiotic ideas around trying to figure out what may be wrong with her before she dies…again." House limped out of the room and Henry stared after him in surprise, his little face still in shock from witnessing his teacher nearly dying.

Fury erupted through Emma at House's insignificance. The way he so easily shook off Mary Margaret's plight with death just so he could mull over the puzzle of it instead. Even if she had died, he would have only cared for solving the puzzle, the mystery to her illness. It infuriated her to no end.

Prying Henry off her, Emma spun on her heel and charged after House. Too many times had this very situation occurred, but this was different. Maybe she was biased, but this was Mary Margaret.

The hurried footsteps of the others followed her, the lot of them sensing that a showdown was about to happen. House heard Emma's quick steps behind him and turned, eyeing her with curiosity. She did not stop until she was mere inches away from him.

"You bastard! All you care about is your goddamn puzzle!" Emma roared, unleashing all the anger that had built up since House's arrival. House's face remained neutral, which angered her even more. He simply did not care.

"Right. You have me all figured out. And it only took you six years," House mocked her while the others watched their argument morosely.

"You know what your problem is, House? You think you can only be miserable so you go around making everyone else feel miserable! You don't care—"

"_No, I don't care!"_ House shouted over her, drowning out her words and slamming his cane into the nearby registry desk.

Emma jumped but she did not look away from him. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd gotten to her.

"As long as I can find my answer, I could care less. Is that what you want to hear? In case you haven't noticed, you're just as screwed up as I am."

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but House forced his cane into the desk again, shutting her words off.

"You're pathetic. You try to make everything _perfect!_ You try to fix everything! You and that kid of yours. If the only hope you can find is in fairy tales, then you're going to have a sad life," House thundered as he gestured to Henry, who was now clutching his book for dear life, his small form shaking. "Grow up and face reality! Stop trying to make everything perfect because _it's never going to happen!"_

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma noticed Henry hang his head, the leather-bound book slipping from his hands. His hope was being crushed right in front of him.

Wrenching her hand back, Emma slapped House hard across the face, his head launching backwards, the sound reverberating off the hospital walls. The white outline of her handprint remained on House's face, the skin around it turning red.

"Don't you _dare._ Don't you _dare_ do that to_ my_ _son!"_ Emma started to turn back to Mary Margaret's hospital room and House attempted to catch her arm. "Don't touch me! Go to hell, House," she spat at him through gritted teeth, eyes dangerously hateful.

The group awkwardly dispersed and House could only watch Emma's red back disappear through the door, his face still stinging where she hit him.

…..

**As always, I would like to thank everyone who is taking the time to read and review! **

**Also, for those Gemma fans out there, I have written up a one-shot. It is an alternative outcome for the scene where Gold gives Emma an ultimatum for her favor. To accept her favor...or kiss him. What if Emma chose differently (dun, dun, dun)? **

**Check it out if you're interested! (-;**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hello, everyone! This is much shorter than I intended it to be...but at least there's some Hameron in it. You'll have to read on to see what I mean. **

**Chapter 20**

Mary Margaret was stabilized, unconscious, and certainly not improving by any means. So Emma returned home-in Mr. Gold's car, no less-to change out of the stupid red dress.

At least he had sensed her instability enough to avoid making any remarks. Otherwise, she might have slapped him as well. _Knowing him, he'd probably enjoy that sort of thing. _

Somewhere between the front door and her bedroom, Emma got sidetracked in the kitchen. Particularly due to a wine bottle that was calling her name.

Emma was beyond angry with House; her hands were shaking violently as she tried to pour a steady glass of wine. Finally she gave up on it. Resting her elbows on the table, she buried her head in her hands.

The way he treated Mary Margaret with ignorance, not caring whether she died...well, that was typical House. And maybe she had been a little overwhelmed and biased.

But the way he'd acted toward Henry, stomping on his hopes and shoving them back in his face...that had been cruel to say the least. House had done that simply because he _could. _And that made her mad.

A soft rapping on the door brought Emma back to reality. Sighing, she tried to ignore it, but the knocking did not stop. _Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock..._

Frustrated, Emma strode to the door and wrenched it open. House was standing there, holding his cane in the air, and swinging it in the direction of the door. Emma started to close it, but House shoved his weight against it, nearly propelling her backwards.

"In case the slap wasn't enough of a hint, I don't want to talk, House. If you have any sense, you'll leave me alone," she said, too tired to raise her voice. She might just take a leaf out of Sleeping Beauty's book and sleep for one hundred years.

House shrugged carelessly, limping into the apartment.

"Guess my good sense is on vacation," House replied, taking a swig of wine straight from the bottle. Emma leaned against the fridge, glaring daggers at him. "Good wine. What's the occasion, darling?"

"House, get out," she automatically demanded. This day had been the longest she ever faced. And it still wasn't over.

House set the bottle down to rock back and forth before standing still. A hard look crossed his blue eyes.

"I...am...sorry," he admitted reluctantly, gazing everywhere in the apartment but her. "For...whatever it was I obviously did wrong." House's brow furrowed. Irritation soared along Emma's nerves.

"Gee, where do I begin?" She sarcastically retorted, already naming three reasons in her mind. House studied her.

"You're still angry," he observed, giving her a blank look. As if he had no clue why. Every nerve in Emma's body exploded.

"Yes, I'm angry! And you know what? It's not about the puzzles. It's not even about Henry," she exclaimed, pushing her body off the fridge and rocketing towards him. House took a step back, rubbing a hand across his forehead. "You just couldn't resist. You couldn't resist making me miserable. Hell, you probably enjoyed that as much as _he_ did-"

"Do you honestly think I enjoyed watching you go on that date?" The intensity in House's tone told Emma he was being serious. It was the last thing she expected from him.

The prolonged silence was full of tension. Emma was nearly speechless, her brain trying to decide whether to bite the line that House was casting.

"You didn't...enjoy it?" Emma deflated, taken by surprise by House's sudden outburst. She could tell it was hard for him to say it, judging by the way he avoided her eyes. House only did that when he was having a hard time saying what was on his mind.

"No," he stated, tapping his cane absently against the ground. "If I had been given the choice, it would have been me. Not him."

Emma was speechless, the breath emptying out of her. The tense silence choked them-House was waiting for her response.

"It...it doesn't mean anything. You and I both know...you don't love me, House. Whatever this is...it's probably another trick just to-"

In that instant, House tossed his cane away and approached Emma. Placing his hands under her chin, he crushed his lips against hers.

His fingers delved into her hair as he brought her body closer to his, her mouth opening up to his. Emma struggled for only a moment before leaning into him. Knees growing weak and pleasure turning in her stomach, Emma lost all sense of time and longed for the kiss to continue-

Emma broke away, the logic slamming back into her head. What was she doing? Allowing House past her walls only served to rip open old wounds. It was easier...

House's words lashed into her like a harsh whip. _Sure, it's easy. But is it right? _

"Why...why did you kiss me?" Emma gazed at him, their bodies inches away. She was faintly aware of his hands still lingering on her neck.

"You kissed back." Three words that she knew well. Three words and suddenly there was no turning back.

House's mouth found hers again and this time she let him kiss her until it hurt. Hands roaming, lust rising, the two of them stumbled blindly across the floor to Emma's bedroom. They were lost in each other, everything else fading away. All the anxiety, anger, and tension that had built up in Emma was released, pouring into that kiss.

"Cameron," House whispered to her as his lips trailed along her neck, her hand wrapped around him and urging him forward, closer.

As a last minute notion, House's foot kicked the bedroom door closed and the two of them collapsed on the bed, soon becoming one.

He was not a stranger to her. No, she was his.

...

**I hope everyone liked it! I always am a Hameron fan, in any case. (-; **

**Thanks again to those who reviewed and took the time to read my story! I appreciate it so much! Every little bit of support gives me tons of inspiration! **

**Hey, guess what? It's Sunday, which means a new OUAT ep! Yay! **

**Bad news: my break is over and I have to return to school tomorrow. )= Back to reality, I guess. **


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: Hello, readers! Well, I am looking forward to this Sunday's episode of OUAT. To help the wait, here's a chapter to tide you over. Now...do you really want to know what Regina is searching for? Do you want to know what's inside that box? **_

_**Well...read on and find out! (-; **_

_**Chapter Twenty One**_

It was half past nine when Regina stealthily slipped up to the front door of Mr. Gold's estate. It occurred to her now that she had never been inside, and a tingle of anticipation shot through her.

Mr. Gold wasn't home tonight-he was currently busy on his little date with Emma Swan. For her sake, she hoped the two occupied themselves for a little while longer.

Digging out her ring of keys, it took her a few tries to find the right one. It was a secret of hers, having nearly every key to every door in Storybrooke. The door clicked and swiftly edged open, inviting her to step inside.

After having a little too much fun between her silk sheets, Chase had willingly explained the location of the box. In the library, underneath the floorboards. How appropriate; she really could expect no less from someone like Mr. Gold.

In the darkness of the estate, Regina carefully climbed the grand stairs, hand sliding along the smooth banister. In a matter of moments, her feet led her in the direction of the library at the end of the hall. The box-or rather, its contents-were practically calling out to her.

The library was massive, but she paid it no mind. Striding across the floor, she knelt before the cold marble fireplace and rapped on the boards until she found the right one. The hollowness echoed within the room, indicating a hidden space underneath.

Grinning, Regina edged the floorboard out with the tips of her fingernails, as sharp as miniature daggers. A musty scent invaded her nose as she peered into the space beneath the floor, her nose scrunching in distaste.

Gingerly, she dipped a hand into the dark space and scrambled around. Fear descended upon her as she imagined Mr. Gold removing the box, hiding it somewhere else due to Chase's break-in. The estate was enormous; she did not have considerable time to search for it.

_The bastard...it's not here anymore. All because that lousy doctor failed to-_

Her fingertips glided across a solid, hard object and relief swept over her, easing her mind. It was still there. How lucky for her.

Dragging it forward, Regina lifted the heavy black box from the hidden space, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. Who had the upper hand now?

_I always get what I want. One way or another. I always win, _she thought with a sensation of victory, cradling the box in her lap.

Gently stroking the carved detailing with a finger, Regina closed her eyes to savor this wonderful moment. The memory-that awful, unbearable memory-swam up from the depths of her mind. The memory of a forgotten land and a mistake that had scorched her with vulnerability.

...

_The mirror was black as night, the glass smooth as diamond. No matter her efforts, the Queen failed to locate Snow White and her precious dwarves. Impatiently, she awaited the imp, to whom she still owed a favor. _

_The Queen glared spitefully at the mirror. Where, oh where, was that girl? Distastefully, the edges of her red lips pinched in a miserable frown. On a whim, the Queen wrenched back her hand and launched it into the mirror, shattering it into a rain of shards. _

_"Oh, so anxious," the lilting, gleeful voice arose from the window. The imp was standing there, something caught between two of his scaly, gray-gold fingers. Snow White's ebony hair. _

_The Queen hastened across the marble floor, skirts whispering like the driest of fallen leaves, to wrest the thin strands from his grasp. The trickster spun on his heel, swiftly dodging her. _

_From the depths of his throat escaped a shrill giggle, the high-pitched sound of it shimmying along the Queen's spine. _

_"Not yet," he taunted her, swinging the hair back and forth in front of her. Worried lines creased her otherwise flawless features, dark eyes burning into the imp. _

_"If you recall, we had a deal," she bluntly reminded him, hands placed firmly-if not a little childishly-on her hips. That hair...it was the final piece required to end Snow White's existence. It was the key to her happiness. _

_"That we did, dearie. It is well past time you owed me that favor." The pitiful dealmaker was requesting his favor. Now, when she was cornered hopelessly on the chessboard. Just as he wanted. _

_"You...you planned this moment. You knew I had no choice but to rely on your aid," she outright accused him, rage coursing through her veins. Of course he knew. It seemed the imp knew everything. He tilted his head, grinning down at her with sheer amusement. _

_"Only one of us is a worthy negotiator...me. And I demand my favor." He circled her like a vulture, his hot breath occasionally brushing along her ear. The Queen whirled, keeping her enemy in sights. Certainly she was not foolish enough to consider him an ally. _

_"And what might this favor be?" The Queen could only imagine what the imp desired of her. If she was right, it might be something she could twist and use to her advantage. Even intimidating monsters such as he had their weaknesses. _

_The imp tempted her by wheedling the hair between his fingers. One second passed, two seconds..._

_"All I ask of you, dear Queen...is your heart," he demanded, lifting her chin with two fingers, her fiery gaze locked with his. Swooping in, the imp's leathery outfit grazed her bare skin. _

_The Queen smirked. That was his desire...to replace the pathetic girl he'd lost. The girl he was convinced was dead. He desired to have her submit to him and ease the longing. _

_Leaning into his body, the Queen arched her head back, exposing the fullness of her white throat. Her crimson lips were inches away from his own black, cruel ones. His free hand delved into the rich, black swirls of her hair, fingers burying into and stroking the strands. _

_"Very well. I give you my heart," she breathed softly, lips parting to accept his own. The imp grinned, dipped his head forward, and-_

_The hand in her hair clenched, twisting the strands brutally and wrenching her head back even further, until her neck felt like it would snap off her shoulders. _

_Abandoning Snow White's hair on a nearby table, his hand thrust into her chest and she moaned with agony as his blackened fingernails curled around her heart. It pumped violently and thudded against his rough skin. _

_Ripping it out, the Queen shrieked as blood soaked her dress, the empty void devouring her chest. Head spinning, knees weak, the Queen collapsed on the floor. _

_Far above her, the imp clutched the magically glowing heart in his hand, the organ throbbing and gradually losing all sign of life. Her heart. The imp had actually meant...oh, she was to be sick any moment. _

_The imp leered menacingly at her, her life resting comfortably in the palm of his hand. A flash of mockery marked his shadowy eyes. _

_"Oh, dearie. You assumed I was speaking of...love?" The word spat from his lips as he had no taste for such a notion...anymore. She had destroyed whatever love dwelled within him. She had figuratively ripped out his heart and so he literally ripped out hers. _

_Forcefully, he brought a black boot down on her heartless chest, knocking the air from her lungs and pinning her body to the marble floor. Gritting his teeth, the imp glowered. _

_"Say my name," he demanded, emphasizing each syllable. The Queen turned her head to the side, gazing absently at the broken mirror. The blackened nails spiked the heart and tendrils of pain crushed her chest. The Queen closed her eyes against the agony. "Say. My. Name." _

_"Rum...pel..." She gasped, unable to breathe. His fingers eased on her heart just as his boot lifted an inch or so from her chest. His lips curled in a grimace. _

_"I'm afraid I can't hear you," he snarled at her. The Queen drew in a poor, ragged breath. _

_"Rumpel...stiltskin," she managed, a steady ache drumming along her nerves. He released her from his boot and the Queen unsteadily rose to her feet, swaying. "If you're going to kill me...then do it. Coward," she snapped, though it probably was not the smartest decision to taunt the person who held her heart. Literally. _

_Rumpelstiltskin wandered towards the window, a noticeable bounce in his step. The Queen's eyes remained on her heart, anticipating another suffocating squeeze. _

_"Don't be foolish, dearie. I do not plan to kill you...yet," he informed her, gazing at her as if she were prey. The assuring note did not lift her spirits. "Suffering, however, is a different matter altogether." _

_Once more his fingers dug cruelly into the heart, squeezing...squeezing..._

_The Queen felt like she was on the brink of death, the pain intolerable and shattering her skull. Unwillingly, a scream pierced the room and she realized it belonged to her. Oh, how she screamed in torment. _

_Bent at the waist, the Queen helplessly watched the room spin from underneath her. The idea of her nerves exploding and erupting into flames was a generous understatement. _

_Rumpelstiltskin raced forward, tangled her black hair in his fingers and forced her to stare into his endless, murky eyes. _

_"That, my dear, is for Belle," he growled before throwing her body to the floor, her head connecting painfully with the marble. He towered over her, his fierce power crackling in the air. For the first time in a long time, the Queen was afraid. _

_"Believe me, I intend you to suffer. For every day she was locked away in that tower, for every second her soul was cleansed, for all the searing pain she endured...by the time I've finished with you, Regina, you will beg at my feet for death." _

_And then Rumpelstiltskin squeezed her heart again, much tighter than ever before to prove his point. _

_And oh, how she screamed. _

_..._

Regina opened her eyes. She could swear she still felt the lingering sensation of his cruel fingers around her heart. But no more.

She promised she would take back what was rightfully hers. This was her way of keeping that promise.

Gripping the handles of the black box, Regina pried the lid open, peered into the box, and...

Every muscle in her body froze. Her mind could not process what she was seeing. Fingers desperately reaching in to touch...nothing. Just a flat, cool bottom of the box. It was gone.

"Looking for this, dearie?"

...

**Dun, dun, dun! **

**I know this scenario might seem similar to the whole "heart in box thing" going on in the show recently...but I actually wrote this chapter like a month or so before Red-Handed. Go figure. **

**And maybe that was a little payback for Regina for Skin Deep. Maybe. I figured there might still be some anger there in Rumpel. And we all know what he's like when he gets angry (*envisions swinging cane with Psycho music playing in the background*)...**

**Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter and will hit that wonderful review button down there! **

**Oh, and speaking of reviews...I want to thank Witchy-grrl, Swarkles, yuiop, Night Owl 33, and J-Walker C for their marvelous reviews recently. **

**Now for an advertisement (mostly for you OUAT fans)! There is a hilarious, brilliant parody series on LiveJournal called the Abridged Once Upon A Time series. It is written by DaesGatling and it has been my saving grace for getting through the intense wait between eps. So, I strongly recommend you fans to check it out! **

**Also, are any of you Gemma fans? If so, I have a new story up called "Sunshine and Rain" that I think you'll find pretty amusing. (-; **

**That being said...I'll get writing the next chapter and it should be up soon! (=**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Hey, guys! Here's another chapter for you. I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my story and review. (-; And so the drama continues…**

**Chapter Twenty Two**

"Looking for this, dearie?"

Regina whirled to see Mr. Gold lingering in the doorway, his cane noticeably absent. Despite that, he was standing tall and strong on his two feet. The black box slipped from her fingers and clanged against the floorboards.

Clutched in Mr. Gold's extended palm was a heart. No, not just any heart. _Her _heart.

A familiar glimmer of malicious glee flashed through his eyes and that was when the cold truth hit her like a solid brick wall.

He knew. He remembered. _Rumpelstiltskin..._

"You bastard," she spat, leaping to her feet. Heels clicking sharply on the floor, she lifted a hand to hit him and-_"Aaahhh!" _

Regina unleashed a shrill groan of agony as her knees buckled. Crimson sparked behind her eyelids and her chest tightened. Gasping, she glanced up to see his fingers digging into the heart, the blood tainting his fingernails. Any tighter and he could very well kill her.

_I do not plan to kill you...yet, _he had once told her in the other realm. Was that assurance still true here?

"Seems to me it still works. Just...like...Graham," he growled, brown eyes devoid of emotion. Two hard, endless depths of black. Regina slowly rose to her feet.

"You...just when did you regain your memory?" It was the wrong question; she realized it too late. Mr. Gold-Rumpelstiltskin-snickered and eyed her like prey, walking as effortlessly as he had in the Enchanted Forest.

"Who said I ever _lost _my memory...Your Majesty?" Once more his fingers crushed the heart and Regina was left breathless on the floor. The blurry black spots of dizziness subsided and Rumpelstiltskin's face loomed above her.

"Did you honestly think I would let you have all the power? Did you really believe you could beat me? Control me?" Logic evaded her catatonic mind, except one realization. He wanted something from her. Otherwise, she would most likely be dead.

"You obviously...want something. What is it?" Regina's red nails gripped the edge of the black leather couch, but her legs were like Jell-O, refusing to support her.

Rumpelstiltskin's lips curled in anger and he sneered down at her.

"What do I want? My dear Queen, can you think of nothing? Here I expected you, of all people, to know the answer to that _precious_ question," he snarled, towering over her. Fury darkened his face, his rage bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You worthless bitch. You _lied to me! _She never died! You locked her away, stripped her of everything beautiful. Broke her and savaged her! You _lied _and took her from me!"

Another squeeze and her world rocked on its side, submerging into an ocean of blinding blacks and reds. Regina's stomach caved in and her head collapsed against the floor.

"What do I want? I want _her." _Something landed on the floor next to Regina. Gradually, she lifted her head. A picture of a girl was staring solemnly up at her. A girl with lanky brown hair and jewel-like eyes that had seen too much despair. _The file...the break-in..._

"Go...to hell..." She whispered dryly.

That was her last good chess piece, her secret ace. At least if he killed her, there'd be a chance he'd never find her. _Are you kidding? Now that he knows she's alive, he will turn this whole town upside down until he reunites with her. He doesn't need you alive. _

"What was that, Your Majesty?" Rumpelstiltskin's head tilted to the side, daring her to repeat the three words. Regina raised her head and glared spitefully at him.

"Go to _hell!" _She screeched, her nails scraping along the floor and curling into fists. Rumpelstiltskin nodded once, as if to say 'that's-what-I-thought.' Then, he laughed darkly.

"Wrong answer," he snapped, the heart turning almost to mush in his palm. Regina bit down on her lip as the pain wracked through her chest, the rusty taste of blood seeping into her mouth. "Shall we try that question again?"

Regina curled into the fetal position, avoiding his gaze.

"Give her to me and I will return your heart to you," he proposed, bouncing the heart up and down in his hand. Regina knew she had limited options-all she wanted was for the pain to end.

"And if I refuse?" Her instincts told her the answer before he could say it himself. A frightening smirk played on his lips.

"I _will _kill you. And then I will find her. End of story," he stated coolly, kneeling down beside her. His body was inches from hers, the heart gripped in his hand.

Regina nodded absently, pursing her lips angrily at him. She hated not being the one in control.

Rumpelstiltskin stood to his full height and lifted a finger, as if he had just been struck with a most brilliant idea. His brown eyes danced with eagerness.

"Oh, and after you leave this room and regain your precious heart…no matter the turn of events, do not change your mind, dearie. Do not interfere with Belle ever again," he requested, his tongue rolling over her name slowly. Regina opened her mouth to protest, but…"_Please." _

She had no choice, regardless of whatever the imp insinuated.

"Deal."

…

It was eight o'clock in the morning and House's mind was already racing. The overwhelming chatter of the crowded diner didn't help any, but at least people were too preoccupied to look at him.

From inside his pocket, he withdrew a slender object wrapped in a hand towel. Setting it on the table, he unfolded it halfway to reveal the strange dagger he'd found in the woods.

A stream of sunlight filtered in through the window, making the blade sparkle among the patches of dried blood. _Wonder who it belongs to in this place? Even small towns have their secrets._

House noticed Ruby hurrying over and he quickly covered the knife with the cloth. Smiling, Ruby refilled his mug with coffee.

"What's that?" Ruby motioned to the cloth on the table, eye growing wide with curiosity. House shrugged.

"A towel," he answered honestly, taking a sip of the coffee. It was better than the coffee his lackeys made at the hospital. _Thirteen should take notes._

"What under the towel?" Ruby tilted her head quizzically. Before House could come up with a sensible lie, his cell phone rang. ABBA's "Dancing Queen." _Wilson._

"Sorry. I need to take this," he said, digging out his phone. Ruby reluctantly bounced away to serve that other doctor. Whale. House noted the doctor's eyes roaming longingly over Ruby. _Guess us doctors think alike. _

"Dancing Queen" never seemed to end. House sighed and answered the phone.

"Either this is total coincidence or you are one hell of a mind reader because you just saved me from having to lie to an incredibly sexy waitress," House quipped. He could almost picture Wilson in his little office, shaking his head.

"On a scale of one to ten?" There was a hint of humor in Wilson's voice. House took his time eyeing Ruby's long, tanned legs.

"Nine point five."

"Point five?" House leaned back in his seat as Ruby bent over the Whale's table, giving him a nice view of her goods.

"I took a few points off for digging that other doctor instead of me," House replied.

"Maybe she's not attracted to limping imps. Last I heard, that was Cameron's preference," Wilson said, chuckling. "Speaking of Cameron..."

"I slept with her," House stated and drummed his fingers against the table, waiting. Wilson was silent on the other end. Ruby finished serving Whale and retreated behind the bar.

"House...are you serious? Because Cameron hates you," he relayed, obviously astounded. House gently lifted the cloth from the knife again, keeping enough of it covered from the view of the waitress.

"Nope. Last night, she and I tangoed, if you know what I mean." House's fingers traced the edge of the jagged blade.

"That's...good news, then. If you can convince Cameron to come back with you, back to New Jersey-"

"She's not coming back," House intercepted, his brow furrowing with tension. He hated admitting it, but he knew it was true. The bell above the diner door chimed and House's head shot up, only to see a collected Regina approaching the bar.

"Why not? Offer her a job at the hospital-"

"Cameron has a kid." Four words that made any relationship with her impossible. House imagined the overdramatic look of surprise on Wilson's face. At the bar, Regina paid for a coffee and pursed her lips as she strode out the door.

"A kid? Who's the father?" House gripped the handle of the knife, cursing in his head.

"You remember that one-night stand ten years ago with the attractive crying woman?" Someone scooted out of their seat to leave and House draped the cloth over the knife as they passed, only lifting it again when the coast was clear.

"Yes, I vaguely recall you mentioning it among other lonely one-night stands. Why?" House waited for the lightbulb to flash on. Then Wilson sucked in a breath and gave a short laugh. "It was Cameron, wasn't it? Ten years ago Cameron's husband died of cancer. Cameron was the attractive, crying woman, which means...House, you might have a kid."

House wanted to hang up on Wilson-he hated it when his friend went on a moral, touchy tangent.

"Key word: _might_. And this town is delusional," House abruptly changed the subject. Wilson sighed.

"Why? Something in the water?" House ran his fingers over the name on the blade-it was smooth as the rest of the blade. It hadn't been engraved. This was something else entirely. _Interesting._

"Cameron's kid thinks this town is swarming with fairy tale characters," he explained, picturing Henry's leather-bound book. It was illogical-a fantasy. So how did this knife fit in?

"Well, Cameron's kid should also be around ten years old, right? It's not uncommon for kids to have their fantasies. Hardly delusional, House." There was a sliver of doubt in Wilson's voice. He and Henry would get along real well.

"I found a dagger with the name 'Rumpelstiltskin' on the blade," he replied, gazing absently out the window. Storybrooke was a small, quiet town, but it didn't mean that crimes were nonexistent.

"The guy who spins gold and makes deals for first born children?" House rolled his eyes, wishing he were at Princeton-Plainsboro so Wilson could see the gesture.

"Thank you for clarifying. Here I thought it was code for 'made in China.'" House flecked a piece of dried blood off the name with his fingernail. "Besides that, these people seem to be stuck in a void. Totally cut off from the rest of the world."

"House, are you actually thinking the kid's right?" House paused for a moment. _The guy who spins gold...makes deals...Gold..._

"Of course he's not right. Fairy tales don't exist-they're a pathetic way to ignore the sorry state of the world we live in. Life doesn't have happy endings. There has to be another reason." There was some background noise on the other end.

"Look, House, I have a patient to treat," Wilson said, sounding flustered. House was unfazed. How many times had he interrupted Wilson's sessions? He had a patient to treat? _So do I._

"Are they dying?" There was a pause.

"My patient has cancer, House. So, yes, they're dying," the oncologist responded in hushed tones. The patient was within ear-shot, then.

"Are they dying by the end of that session?" House raised his voice slightly in hopes his voice would carry on the other end.

"House, treat your patient. Figure out your puzzles," Wilson retorted, irritated. House grinned-his devious action worked. "And I want my credit card back."

Wilson was gone with a sharp click. Satisfied, House studied the dagger again. Traced the name. _Rumpelstiltskin._

There had to be another, logical explanation. House knew the truth better than anyone. Fairy tales simply did not exist.

…..

**Yeah, I kind of wanted to include a little bit of Wilson. Especially since House stole his credit card…**

**I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter and will let me know what they think! **

**As for the latest OUAT episode, I thought it was very good. IMHO, the Mad Hatter was much more interesting a character than the Stranger, in any case. **


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hello, guys! I think this chapter will be more interesting than the last. Enjoy it! **

**Chapter 23**

_Dizziness...pain...why was there so much pain? She was starting to forget what it felt like without constant pain. _

_A faint memory, suspended on thin wires. _

_Barely breathing, Mary Margaret struggled to grasp the tendrils of the memory before it slunk back into the unforetold corners of her mind. Eyes fluttering, rolling behind heavy eyelids, Mary Margaret forced the memory into the light. _

_It was a warm morning, a slight breeze skittering across her skin. Shoes tapping on the sidewalk, the entrance of the diner passing by on her left. Two brown grocery bags in her arms, filled to the brim. _

_The bags made it hard to see-crash! Mary Margaret collided with a solid object, a person. _

_Cans, bottles, packages scattered across the path. A red, thick substance leaked from a broken ketchup bottle. Red...like blood..._

_Bending, scooping the items back into the rumpled bags, apologies tumbling from her trembling lips. _

_A cold breeze; Mary Margaret shivered as she glanced up at the person. Beams of blinding sun behind the person's head cast their face into black shadows. Still, Mary Margaret was unnerved-this person was not inviting, this person was most feared. _

_No offer of help, Mary Maragret stumbled to her feet, the bags in her arms seeming heavier then before. She still could not recall the face...she had to remember..._

_An extended hand, clutching a juicy red apple. It looked so delicious, so irresistable. Just a small bite..._

_Gone were the bags as Mary Margaret accepted the apple, her mouth salivating and lips parting to receive it. Just a small bite...just one..._

_It was a piece of heaven, the tarty sensation playing with her tongue. Suddenly, Mary Margaret paused, staring with wide green eyes at the apple. The taste shifted to one of utmost distaste. Burning...burning..._

_The apple fell away, rolling into the street and smashed into applesauce by the wheel of a car. Green eyes wide with panic, Mary Margaret's gaze traveled to the person's face. _

_The sun slipped away, the shadows fled, and recognition dawned on her. Abruptly, she could remember. She could remember who had caused her this pain. It was-_

...

Emma entered Mary Maragret's hospital room, hair untidy and a secret smile on her lips. Her endeavors with House were still fresh in her mind. She mentally kicked herself-the man made her absolutely _crazy_ and not in the good sense. But still...the way his hands had caressed her, his lips claiming hers...

Truth be told, this was the best she'd felt in a long time. She hated herself for it, knowing that Mary Margaret was downright miserable.

Thirteen, Taub, and Chase were checking up on the ill Mary Margaret, whose limp pale form was curled stiffly in the fetal position. Her eyes were closed; she was barely hanging on.

"Good to see you're more or less back to normal," Taub stated, motioning to Emma's red leather jacket. She crossed her arms, savoring the familiar comfort of leather. That red dress was going to end up buried in the woods. Or burned.

"How is she?" Emma strode to Mary Maragret's bedside while Thirteen checked the patient's vital signs, making note of them on a clipboard.

"She's been slipping in and out of consciousness. We've been trying to keep her alert to prevent her from falling into a coma," the female doctor explained, jade eyes remorseful.

Mary Margaret was terribly weak-any doctor could see that. Chest jolting every time she drew in a breath, it seemed a chore for the woman to even breathe without tubes.

Emma's eyes swiveled to Chase, whose hair acted as a curtain blocking her view of his lined face. A tiny web of anger spiraled along her nerves.

"And where were you yesterday while our patient was dying?" Chase glanced up once, his tanned fingers clenching the guardrail of the hospital bed.

"I'm here now. It doesn't matter," he retorted, studying their patient. Emma leaned over, demanding his attention.

"It doesn't matter? It's your job to help her-" Taub suddenly held up a hand, dipping his head close to Mary Margaret as her eyes fluttered.

"Guys, I think...I think she's trying to say something," he said, cocking an ear to the side. The room fell silent as Mary Maragret gasped in a faint whisper.

_"Cold...cold..." _Taub raised his head, thinking. Emma's eyes remained glued on Mary Maragret. Thirteen frowned with confusion.

"Are you...cold?" Taub wondered, pressing a hand to her forehead. Thirteen checked her vital signs again.

"No signs of shivering or chills," the female doctor pointed out. Taub removed his hand, puzzled.

"She actually has a bit of a fever," he mentioned, shrugging. Emma's mind raced. Why would Mary Maragaret say she was cold when that clearly wasn't the case? It made no sense.

"So there's no reason for her to be cold," Chase concluded, nearly glaring at Taub.

"I'm just going by what the patient said. Don't kill the messenger," he retorted. Emma turned it over in her mind. _Why would she say that? What does she really mean? Unless..._

Emma froze with understanding. God, she hoped she was wrong.

"No," she murmured, causing the others to glance her way. "That's not what she said."

Instantly, Emma was next to Mary Maragaret, urging her awake again. The woman's eyes rolled wildly, unfocused. "Mary Margaret, listen to me. I need you to repeat that word."

Taub's hand lightly touched her arm, but Emma shook it off. _That's not what Mary Margaret said. She said..._

Mary Margaret's eyes fluttered open and she unleashed a horrid string of coughing. Taking a shallow breath, she whispered the word again into Emma's ear.

_"Gold...Gold..." _Gold. The pawnbroker's face filled her mind and her fingers curled fiercely around the guardrail.

"Gold," Taub repeated, face paling. The others knew that Emma had recently had a date with a man named Mr. Gold. Now...what if he was their answer? What if he was the one killing their Snow White?

Emma's nails dug into the guardrail, her lips pressing into a firm line. The word echoed endlessly in her head, her vision shielded by a cloud of red. _Gold. _

Taub reached out to her, but Emma ducked around him, heading straight for the door. All she could see was the pawnbroker's face in her mind and she knew there was no stopping until she found him.

Until she got her answer.

...

**Dun, dun, dun! Cliffhangers...always my favorite to write. (-; Sorry, guys. **

**Hope everyone enjoyed reading, though! More good stuff to come-I'm already working on the next chapter. **

**I am certainly looking forward to this Sunday's episode. Looks like we'll finally be told the reason why Regina hates Snow so much...what do you guys think? **

**Perhaps I will update again on Sunday or Monday after the ep. Until then, readers! **


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hey, there! Are you all ready to see the marvelous iconic moment of Snow White unfold? Yes, there is good stuff in this chapter. I hope everyone enjoys it! Poor Mary Margaret…**

**Chapter 24**

_Poison...it has to be…that bastard…_

Emma burst into the pawnshop on a wave of pure, crimson anger. Forcefully, she slammed the door to announce her arrival. This time, the bell actually broke off, rolling at Emma's feet.

Mr. Gold was standing behind the counter, head bent forward, brown hair falling in front of his face as he studied something. His brown eyes glanced up expectantly. Disappointment flashed across his face as he registered that it was only Emma.

"Expecting someone?" Bitterness tainted her tone as she approached him, eyes narrowing dangerously. That amused smirk reappeared on the pawnbroker's lips once more, only serving to irritate her more. _Are you the one causing Mary Margaret's suffering? What did she ever do to you? _

"Emma," he drawled slowly. "Couldn't get enough of me last night?" Emma sent him a serious, deathly glare. It irked her that he was so calm, so resolved. All the while, her nails dug into the edge of the counter.

"Actually, I'm here to take you in for questioning and possibly arrest," she replied coolly, hoping to wipe that smirk off his controlled face. It dimmed slightly and his body stiffened. _Good, _Emma thought, the corners of her lips lifting. _Not so holier than thou, are you, Gold? _

"Excuse me?" Mr. Gold's voice was icy, but Emma didn't care. Mary Margaret's life was on the line. She could still hear her friend's shaky, weak voice rasping the word "_Gold"._

"Please. Mary Margaret named you. Want to tell me why?" Emma gazed at him, waiting impatiently. Mr. Gold spread his palms on the counter and shrugged.

"I have no idea, dearie," he responded smoothly with a ghost of a smile on his face. If she hadn't been overwrought with fury, perhaps she would have been able to view the situation differently. Unfortunately, she was angry and her nerves were wearing thin. Her emotions were getting the better of her.

Grimacing, Emma pulled out her handcuffs. Mr. Gold's dark eyes followed them as they swung from her fingers.

"Well, as far as I'm concerned, you're the one who's killing her," she stated, circling the counter to snap the cuffs around his wrists. His cane, leaning against the display case, clattered noisily to the floor and Emma kicked it aside. "Mr. Gold, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Mary Margaret Blanchard."

"You really are putting that new Sheriff title to good use," he remarked calmly as she finished locking the cuffs around his wrists. Emma bit her tongue and ignored him as she read him his rights.

"You have the right to remain silent, which I suggest you do," she advised sharply. Gripping his arms, Emma escorted the pawnbroker from his shop, kicking the broken bell aside as they passed.

…..

_The Evil Queen gazed victoriously into the smooth glass of her mirror. The spot where her beating heart once existed remained sore, but she no longer cared for it. Finally, she was made happy by the sudden apparition of Snow White in her mirror. After countless failed attempts…she had found her. _

_ Perfect timing, the Evil Queen thought with a red-lipped grin as she strode to the black box that rested upon a nearby table. Inside was the weapon—the most red, delicious, irresistible apple in the land. The Evil Queen cradled it lovingly in her hands, the sturdy weight of it pleasing her. Even she had to resist the urge to taste a bite of it, mouth-watering as it was. _

_ Delving into the folds of her cloak, the Evil Queen retrieved the vial of golden liquid given to her by Maleficent. So much damage in such a tiny container. And every drop of it was reserved for the precious Snow White. _

_ Slowly, the Queen uncapped the vial. Placing the apple on the table, she dipped back into the box and revealed a few thin strands of Snow White's ebony hair. It had cost her heart and so she expected it to be worth it. The strands diffused with the golden mixture and then a brilliant golden light burst from the vial. _

_It was ready. _

_After so much time, The Evil Queen would seek her revenge on Snow White. This time, the little princess would pay for what she did and would never grace the Enchanted Forest with her mocking presence again. _

_The Evil Queen tipped the vial and the luxurious golden liquid coated the red apple. The Queen watched as the gold soaked into the apple, the apple soon returning to its marvelous red hue. Only now, there was a definite shine to it which made it seem all the more appetizing. _

"_So…you have done it. You're going to kill her," the Mirror chimed to her, breaking her wondrous moment of success. The Evil Queen whirled to face her magic Mirror, the apple clutched firmly in her hand. _

"_Don't tell me you think I shouldn't exact my revenge? Snow White…she killed the very thing I loved most. She needs to pay for what she's done to me!" The Queen roared, her strained voice bouncing along the black stone walls. _

"_You know where she is? Your plan is to have your guards poison her?" The Mirror sounded doubtful. The Evil Queen gazed mesmerizingly at the delicious, dangerous apple. After a moment, her lips curved in a deadly smile. _

"_No. This I will do myself," she announced, whisking her hand around her body. A flourish of dark purple smoke wafted around her and suddenly the reflection in the Mirror was no longer one of a beautiful, powerful Queen._

_It was one of a hideous, poor hag with a basket of apples on her arm. _

_It is time, she thought as she began her journey through the forest, the poisonous apple wrapped in her long, knobby fingers. Time to seek my revenge on Snow White. Time to find my happy ending. _

…

Mary Margaret's eyelids fluttered weakly as Emma stormed out. Why was she angry? She had done what Emma asked—she had repeated the word. Her throat burned now from the effort. _Gold…gold…_

It clicked in Mary Margaret's cramped, unsettled mind. _Gold. Oh…Emma thinks…no, that's not what I meant. I have to tell her…_

The figures of the doctors swam in blurs before her eyes. It was too hard to focus, too hard to stay awake. All she wanted to do now was sleep. Sleep was a good thing when you were sick, wasn't it? Sleep…

Mary Margaret's eyes closed, her fingers spread out on the sheet of the bed, relaxed. The hum of the machines lulled her into a peaceful sleep. There was a sudden garble of voices, though the words did not make sense. Oh, well…it didn't matter now.

All Mary Margaret wanted was to sleep, to forget the pain. That memory kept haunting her, but gradually it faded. What was it she was supposed to tell Emma? _Something…something about an apple…yes, a red apple…so delicious…just one bite…_

A shrill beeping pierced her ears and then the world fell into eternal silence. Finally, she was peaceful. _Sleep…_

Mary Margaret had fallen into a deep sleep—into a coma.

…

_Someday my prince will come…hmm…hmmm…hmmm…._

_ Snow White gracefully danced around the cottage as she hummed lightly to a tune in her head. Everything was getting better lately. The potion no longer stained her mind. Happiness was closer to her fingertips than before, especially among her friends. _

_ The dwarfs had gone to the mines that day. Snow White assured them she would be fine. She was capable of handling herself—she had survived in the forest, after all. What could possibly happen to her now? _

_ Snow White took it upon herself to clean the entire cottage, pleasurable thoughts of her Charming floating around her mind. He was coming today, coming to find her. He would always find her. _

_ It made her smile to recall his handsome face, his beautiful eyes always alight with love for her. Her Prince Charming. _

_ A sharp knock on the door pulled her from her dreamy reverie. Setting the broom against the wall, Snow White opened the cottage door just an inch or two, just to see who it was on the other side. Curiosity was always tempting. _

_ It was a simple hag selling apples. There was a basketful of them hanging in the crook of her arm. Snow White absently nudged the door open even wider upon seeing them—the apples were the most beautiful red she'd ever seen. They looked wonderfully delicious. _

_ "My child, would you care for an apple?" The hag's voice was low and muffled, her chipped yellow teeth gnarling over her cracked lips. Snow White gazed longingly at the apple outstretched in the hag's weathered, brown hand, the blackened nails digging into the apple and making the juice squirt out. _

_ Against her better instincts, Snow started to reach for it…_

_ "Oh…I'm not supposed to let anyone in the cottage. I'm not even supposed to open the door for anyone. I'm sorry," she said, preparing to close the door on the hag and her tempting apples. The hag slid a boot in the door, preventing it from closing entirely. _

_ "Please, child…it's only an apple. What's the harm in that?" The hag's cloak whispered on the wind, drifting towards Snow White. Her rosy lips parted in thought—what was the harm in that? "This one…this one perfect for you. See how it shines…" _

_ Snow White's green eyes locked onto the red apple and everything else faded into the background. The sunlight caught the apple and made its red skin shine like no other fresh apple she'd seen before. It looked so good…_

_ One apple wouldn't hurt, would it? _

_ "How much would you like for it?" Snow scanned the room for some coins, anything to pay the old woman. Quickly, the woman's rough hand grabbed ahold of Snow's wrist, stopping her. _

_ "Oh, no…this one for you. All yours…free of charge. Just one bite, child. Here, taste it," she urged Snow, thrusting the apple towards her. Snow glanced down at it again and nearly felt her mouth salivate for wanting it. _

_ As if in a trance, Snow reached out and lifted the apple in her delicate hands. It even smelled good—the tarty scent wafting along her nose. Just one bite…_

_ Snow raised the apple to her lips and, with a satisfying crunch, bit down into the apple. Snow blissfully closed her eyes as she savored the sweet, juicy taste of the apple. Never had she tasted anything more delicious, except for whenever she snuck an apple from the Queen's tree—_

_ The Queen. _

_ It hit her then. The cold realization. Those eyes…those dark eyes were so familiar. The façade was melting away…_

_ Just as the realization swept over her, Snow swallowed the piece of apple in her throat. It burned all the way down, setting her throat on fire. The apple dropped away, rolling across the floor. A shaky hand traveled to her fair throat just as the world around her swam. _

_ Everything was becoming hazy. She felt drowsy, as if she could sleep for a thousand years. Snow's knees grew weak, buckling beneath her. Suddenly, she was on the ground, her head connecting with the hard surface and lolling like a ragdoll. _

_ "What's wrong, Snow?" That voice. That condescending, unmistakable voice. Snow White's eyes fluttered as she witnessed the old hag shift gradually into the form of the Queen, standing high above her. _

_ She's done it…she's going to kill me, Snow sadly understood as her eyes closed again. If this was what the Queen thought she should pay, then Snow would accept it. Her trembling lips formed the words 'I'm sorry', but it was too late. The world was slipping from her fingertips. _

_ The Queen loomed above her, smiling proudly at the sight of the dying Snow White. _

_ "Finally…I have rid this world of you. You will never mock me again. You will never cause me unhappiness…Snow White," the Queen whispered as Snow sucked in her final breath. Her head rolled to the side, her ebony hair fanned out on the floor beneath her. _

_ Prince Charming would never again find her. Even he could not save her now. The Queen had won. _

_ The apple was within inches of her fingers. It was the last thing Snow White saw before the tendrils of black swam across her mind, before the last bit of life in her heart burned out. _

_ The Queen's laughter echoed in her skull, carrying her across the threshold of death like a tragic lullaby. And those two words drifted, begging to be heard, but dying upon Snow White's rosy lips. _

_ I'm sorry. _

…_.._

_**And there it is. The poison apple. (= How did you guys like it? **_

_**The episode last night was…interesting. But I won't spoil anything in case there are some out there who have yet to see it. Still, Regina hates Snow White for THAT? Really? **_

_**Well, I want to thank those that are taking the time to read and enjoy my story. Thank you so much, guys! **_


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I know it's been a while since I last updated! I got side-tracked working on my other Once stories. Feel free to check those out as well! **

**I hope everyone enjoys the next chapter. I kind of substitute Wilson for Ruby in this chapter—someone in Storybrooke needs to help House trigger that brilliant moment, right? **

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 25

"Still here?" Ruby jerked House out of his reverie and poured him a steaming cup of coffee. He had just gotten a call from Emma-she had Gold in custody because she had assumed he was the one killing their nun-like patient. _'Wrong answer. Gold's not killing her…it's something else.' _

"I could ask you the same question," House retorted, sipping his coffee. He savored the rich quality dancing on his tongue. "You are a natural," he breathed in awe, eyeing the coffee as if it were a sign from God. Ruby laughed, flipping her red-streaked hair over her shoulder.

"With the coffee or did you have a more specific activity in mind?" Ruby placed a hand on her hip, leaning over the table. House's eyes gleamed as he eyed her curvy figure.

"Why can't both be true?" The other half of his mind continued to puzzle over the case.

What the hell was wrong with the nun? If Gold was killing her-and somehow House was doubtful about that-then it would be through poison. Or something about the pawnbroker coming in contact with Mary Margaret. But House would bet all the money in his pocket that the pawnbroker didn't cross paths with the schoolteacher that much. Still…which was it?

"I can assure you that my coffee is ten times better than that disgusting stuff in the machines at the hospital. Drink enough of that stuff and it'll kill you," she teased. House started to raise the mug to his lips again and then paused, staring absently ahead of him. Something clicked. _'Drink that stuff…it'll kill you.'_

_'It'll kill you.' _

_'Why can't both be true?'_

Abruptly, House set the mug on the table and got to his feet. Ruby was staring at him wide-eyed, as if he'd just gone off the deep end.

"What? What is it?" House grabbed up his cane, his mind spinning with excitement and realization. _'Maine's version of Wilson. You just happened to say the right thing.'_

"Thank you," he murmured as he passed her, heading for the door. Ruby watched his retreating back with alarm.

"Wait! You never paid for the coffee!" Ruby shook the coffeepot in her hands, but House didn't slow his stride.

"I owe you," he called back over his shoulder as he ducked out of the diner and braced his leg for the most excruciating, ass-hauling walk of his life.

* * *

><p><em>Tap, tap, tap…<em>

It was a rhythmic wave that filled the uncomfortable silence as Chase repeatedly tapped his pen against the table. Emma stared at it with irritation, but could not find the words to tell him to stop. She just…endured.

_Tap, tap, tap…_

The four of them-excluding House-were huddled around the table, eyeing the overwhelming list of symptoms with growing despair. Their minds were cramped, their thoughts spewing out ideas they'd had countless times already. And the clock kept ticking, life kept moving on around them.

Mary Margaret was in a deep coma. Her roommate, her friend…comatose. And Gold wasn't telling her anything useful. _'That's because he's not the one killing her. You know it. You jumped to conclusions, you're wrong.' _

Slowly, Emma sank her head into her hands. _'If Mary Margaret dies, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself.' _

_Tap, tap, tap…_

"So…our Snow White has become Sleeping Beauty," Taub finally sighed, staring absently at the middle of the table. Emma lifted her head.

"I have Gold sitting in a jail cell and he's not very helpful. There are hundreds of poisons…if he is in fact poisoning her," she mused, raking her fingers through her tangled blonde hair. She hadn't gotten a decent ounce of sleep since this nightmare started. It was beginning to take a toll on her, her muscles protesting if she even inched forward in her seat.

_Tap, tap, tap… _

"We might as well start testing for arsenic, mercury, lead, and half a dozen other possible poisons," Thirteen anxiously added. "Will you knock it off with that pen?" Chase dropped the pen and leaned back in his chair.

"Wish House was here to do his job. Our patient's not getting any better," Chase moaned. The door of the conference room burst open and they all glanced up at the intrusion.

"Wish granted," House declared as he strode towards the list of symptoms. After a moment's hesitation, he picked up an eraser and wiped the list away.

"House, what are you doing?" Emma watched with confusion as the symptoms vanished, leaving an empty board. House suddenly turned to face her as if he just realized she was there. His blue eyes roamed over the length of her body and she knew he was imagining her as he had last night, enjoying his company.

"Oh, I just thought this would be the perfect time to play hangman," he sarcastically spouted, the marker squeaking as it slid down the board. Except he wasn't entirely kidding as he drew a noose.

"House, we don't have time for-"

"You see, here's our little nun," House cut her off while drawing a female stick figuring wearing a nun's outfit. Then he drew four horizontal lines across the bottom. "And now…any guesses for the answer?" House gazed at them expectantly.

"Uh…a?" Chase shrugged, playing along. House ran the marker over the noose, emphasizing it. He scowled at the sandy-haired doctor.

"Chase, you are hanging our patient. Any guesses from someone who isn't an Aussie?" Emma rolled her eyes-she always hated House's games. _'Well, you certainly enjoyed his games last night.'_

"The answer is Gold," she stated, making House smile. He scrawled the four letters and circled the word. Chase seemed bemused by the obviousness of the answer and probably felt like an idiot that he never made the connection.

"Good. Slightly disappointed that last night's adventure isn't distracting you…but good," he replied. Everyone else's eyes snapped to Emma in surprise. They had worked for House long enough to know what he meant by 'adventure.'

"You two…slept together?" Taub questioned, motioning between the two of them. Emma blushed a steady pink, but House remained confident, wrapping his arm around Emma's waist as if they were happy newlyweds.

"Yep. Cameron here was moaning for _hours_ afterwards. A job well done, right?" Emma shoved at House's chest and glared at him.

"House!" He ignored her.

"So, do any of you lovely ducklings know _why_ our answer is gold?" House glanced at each one of them in turn.

"Because it happens to be the name of the person who is supposedly killing Mary Margaret," Emma pointed out sharply. House firmly slammed the marker down on the whiteboard.

"Wrong! Anyone else? Preferably with an unbiased assumption?" Taub's brow furrowed with concentration and he carefully opened his mouth to speak.

"Because…it's the word our patient said before she slipped into a coma." House shook his head instantly.

"Nope. We already know what our patient said. Why that word?" His piercing blue eyes landed on Thirteen, deliberately skipping over Chase. The blonde doctor spread his hands in a 'what-the-hell' manner.

"Hey! How do you know _I_ don't have the right answer?" Chase stared incredulously at House.

"Because you talk funny," House retorted. Chase crossed his arms and seemingly pouted. House sighed, waving his cane in Chase's direction. "Fine! What's your answer?"

"Well, I was just going to agree with Cameron, but I was just trying to make a point-"

"Then you're wrong. Which means I was right-listening to you is a waste of time," House shot at him. Chase deflated, obviously offended by House's interception. His rudeness, however, should not have surprised him entirely.

"Your words are very hurtful sometimes," Chase remarked before lapsing into silence. Emma had to stifle a bit of a giggle at Chase's exasperated expression. Once again, House turned to Thirteen, whose jade eyes were studying the little stick figure critically.

"Lucky number Thirteen," House hinted for her to share her answer. For a long time, Thirteen was quiet as she absorbed the word 'gold' written on the board. Licking her lips, she nodded.

"You think that Mary Margaret meant something else when she said 'gold.' She wasn't talking about a person." House's head tilted to the ceiling and he closed his eyes with satisfaction.

"Ding, ding, ding! About time someone caught on. Care to continue?" Thirteen stood and approached the board, her eyes never leaving the four-letter word.

"It's just as you said. Gold is the answer. Mary Margaret…is being poisoned with gold," Thirteen put the final pieces of the puzzle together. Emma gawked at House.

"You actually think she's being _poisoned _with the metal _gold_?" House pointed accusingly at Thirteen, maintaining an innocent face.

"The bi said it, not me." Emma's mouth dropped open. Mary Margaret being poisoned with gold. The symptoms fit, including the sudden miscarriage. The gold would have harmed the fetus as well, causing irreversible damage and eventual loss. Not only was this an attempt to kill Mary Margaret, but it also cost her unborn child. It made sense. "Did she eat or drink anything the morning she fell sick?"

Emma thought back to that morning._ 'Mary Margaret…carrying two bags of groceries…holding out two apples…biting one…I think it's rotten…'_

"The apple," Emma whispered, stumbling upon the answer all at once. There had been something wrong with the apple. Mary Margaret had thrown it away…

"There was an apple in the trash bin at their apartment. It looked rotten, but we didn't think anything of it," Thirteen said, face contorting with thoughtfulness and strain. She cursed under her breath. "The answer was right there. If we had taken the apple, if we had tested it…."

Emma's lips pulled into a thin line. Would Mary Margaret be in such a critical condition-comatose-if they had considered the apple? _'A poisoned apple. Oh, how Henry would run with that idea. You see, Emma? She really is Snow White.'_

"Enough with the what-ifs. Get the apple and we'll see if it's sprinkled with gold."

* * *

><p>When the team returned with the rotten apple, Emma held it out in front of House. She scrunched her nose at the smell of the wasted fruit. If she peered closely, she thought she could make out an odd fleck or two that shouldn't have been there. <em>Gold? Or is House's theory just getting to me? <em>

"Wonderful. Now let's see if Thirteen is right. And by Thirteen, I mean _me_," House stated as he took out a vial of liquid. They stared at it in puzzlement.

"What is that?" Chase gestured to the vial of clear liquid as House uncapped it.

"Stannous chloride. Mixed with gold, it turns bright purple," he explained, catching Emma's eye.

A few years ago, they had a case where a woman had poisoned her husband using gold taken from arthritis pills. The same liquid had been used on her hands and her skin had become blotchy with purple spots, as though she'd been rubbing Play-Doh all over them.

Now, House ran the same liquid over his fingers. The room was quiet.

"Where did it come from?" This one came from Taub, who had his hands stuffed in his pockets. House shot him an annoyed look.

"What, is this 20 Questions? I always keep a case of useful items with me when I travel, just in case," he said, placing the remaining portion of the chloride on the table. He nodded to Emma, still holding the apple. "Run your fingers over the apple."

"And testing Mary Margaret for gold wouldn't have worked?" Despite her protests, Emma did as House instructed and rubbed her fingers over the apple, trying to pick up any last traces of gold. House shrugged.

"It would have, but this way it'll be much more dramatic. Hold out your hands." Emma set the apple on the table next to the vial and held out her hands, palms down. House gently took her hands and she could feel the chloride soaking into her skin.

"Now we wait," Chase sighed, settling into a chair. House squeezed Emma's hands.

"Aw, look at us. Holding hands. Isn't it just romantic?" Emma arched an eyebrow, giving him a warning look. Taub chuckled and pretended he meant to cough.

"What happens if you're wrong? What if Gold is actually killing her?" _'It's not that easy. He's sitting in a jail cell, with that smirk on his face while Mary Margaret is dying. Not talking…'_

"If I'm wrong-unlikely-then you can keep questioning the pawnbroker and pray you'll get somewhere. If I'm right, we'll save her life and you will owe your date an apology." House peeked under his fingers at Emma's skin. Then, his face became grave. "Damn," he muttered.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Emma's stomach clenched with disappointment instead of victory. House was wrong. And time was nearly wasted.

"Damn," House whispered again, gazing hard at Emma. "Cameron, I'm sorry…but it looks like you owe someone an apology." Swiftly, House turned her hands over and unveiled them for all to see. Bright purple spots stained her fingertips. _'Gold. There's the proof.'_

Taub whistled air through his lips, taken aback by the rough purple splotches. Thirteen nodded grimly and Chase almost collapsed from his chair.

"We'll flush the rest of the gold out of her system and start on medication," Thirteen stated. The three doctors filed out of the room to do their jobs.

"I told you so," House mocked her as she wiped her hands on her jeans. "Someone's probably been slipping it to her. Right under your nose. And unless Gold is poisoning her with gold-ironic-then I'd say your next stop is the station where an innocent man is sitting in a jail cell."

Emma inevitably knew House was right. There were no grounds to keep Gold imprisoned with this new, overwhelming information. Swallowing her pride, she made the walk to the station where she would have to apologize to a creepy, leering pawnbroker. _'They don't pay me enough for this.'_

* * *

><p><strong>Well, there you have it. MM is being poisoned with gold. I was actually inspired a little by the episode "Clueless" in season 2 of House (the one also mentioned in this chapter). And the use of a poisoned apple for MM was too good to resist. <strong>

**But it's not over yet. Gee, who in Storybrooke would ever attempt to poison MM? **

**Oh and here is a shout-out to DragonRose4: good job with the assumptions in your reviews. As the writers for OUAT once said: 'somebody's got it right.' (-; **

**Thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! **


	26. Chapter 26

_**A/N: Thank you for the reviews and for the people who are taking the time to read this story. It's almost wrapped up now, but I'm glad so many people have enjoyed it! **_

_**Now…enjoy this next chapter. **_

_**Chapter 26**_

For the first time in days, there was no pain as Mary Margaret arose from unconsciousness and opened her eyes. The orange-yellow streams of sunset floated through the window, warming her face. Numb, she simply lay in her hospital bed and enjoyed the feeling of being awake and alive.

"Mary Margaret," came the familiar voice from her bedside. Shifting her head, she turned gradually to see David smiling down at her, his blue eyes shining with relief.

"David," she breathed, the word coming out in a choky whisper. David laughed softly and caressed her face. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here. Mary Margaret, I was so worried. When I heard you were in a coma…" David shook his head solemnly. Mary Margaret glanced around—there was no one else here. The only seat in the room was occupied by David as he held her hand.

"Where…Kathryn?" It was so hard to release the words as her body slowly came back to life. David's smile dimmed a little and realization dawned on her. _Oh, God…he didn't tell her, did he? Kathryn doesn't know he's here. _

"Don't worry about Kathryn," he said, confirming her suspicions. "Mary Margaret, I'm just glad you're alright." David bent down to place a kiss on her lips, but she tilted her head away so he caught her cheek instead.

"David…" _We can't do this to Kathryn. This isn't right._ _You chose her over me. _Before she could gather up the strength to say just that, the hospital room door opened and in came Henry and Emma.

"Ms. Blanchard!" Henry immediately rushed to her bedside, knocking David out of the way to give her an enormous hug. Mary Margaret laughed and rubbed Henry's head comfortingly. David awkwardly shuffled to the side.

"Someone wanted to see you," Emma said, gesturing to Henry. She approached the bed, crossing her arms stoically. Still, Mary Margaret could tell that Emma was equally relieved.

"They said you can leave once you get better," Henry said, sliding himself onto the edge of Mary Margaret's hospital bed. "That doctor with the big nose said you were poisoned." Alarm filled Henry's little voice and Emma's heart clenched for him. For both of them. Mary Margaret was more to him than just a teacher—she was a beacon of hope.

"Is that what they said? Well, I can assure you that it will be just like the flu. I'll be better in no time," she promised Henry, giving him a warm smile. "Just don't forget to do your homework."

"How did you know it was gold?" Emma drew closer to the bed, brow furrowed. She could still recall the way Mary Margaret gasped for breath, repeating that one word.

"When I was a volunteer here, there was this one woman with arthritis. She never wanted to take her medication at the start. Every time she said she would, she'd crush the pills instead. She always told the nurses she was looking for gold. She was…a little eccentric."

"And gold is in arthritis pills," Emma finished. Mary Margaret nodded, shrugging. The feeling was just starting to come back into her toes and she wiggled them under her blanket.

"The strange stuff on the apple…it looked a little bit like those crushed pills. Like someone injected it into the apple. But there was something else, too. I could have sworn there were actual flecks of gold there as well," she said, losing herself in thought. Her mind felt cramped as it returned to the habit of working normally. Then her green eyes lit up and she turned to David. "Oh, David. I wanted to thank you for the coffee."

David's face contorted with confusion.

"Mary Margaret…I never brought you coffee," he replied. Emma studied him—the guy was telling the truth. Mary Margaret tried to sit up, but she was still too weak.

"You…didn't? But it was my usual. I figured…" David shook his head, eyes puzzled.

"Whoever brought you coffee…that wasn't me." Now Emma glanced back and forth, confused. If the coffee wasn't from David, then who was it from?

And in the next second, her mind—her memory—answered the question for her.

_Regina…visiting Mary Margaret…coffee in hand…never drinking it…_

Regina had never taken a sip of the coffee. It had been from the diner, not the hospital's machines. And yet she never drank it. Just set it on the table beside Mary Margaret…

_She never drank it. And there's a reason for that. What did House say? Someone must have been slipping it to her…right under your nose. _

"Emma? Are you okay?" Mary Margaret 's concerned voice barely broke through Emma's dreadful realization. And then Henry gazed up at her, his finger drumming against the cover of his fairy tale book. A silent message: _you know who did this. You know who poisoned her. _

In this world—the real world—there had to be concrete reasons to point to Regina as Mary Margaret's attempted murderer. In the fairy tale world, Henry's world, Mary Margaret was Snow White and Regina was the Evil Queen holding out the poisoned apple.

_The poisoned apple. _

_You know who did this. _

Yes, Emma knew, without a doubt.

_Regina. _

* * *

><p>It was slow inside the diner, which was good news for Emma. Fewer people to eavesdrop and it gave her a better chance to talk to Ruby.<p>

"What can I get for you, Sheriff?" Ruby grinned, resting her elbows on the counter. "Wait! I know you now! A regular coffee, cream, one sugar…or a hot chocolate with extra cinnamon…or—"

It was good to know that Ruby had a knack for memorizing her customer's orders down to the crumb. It was very good. _Because if someone orders differently, Ruby would know instantly. _

"Actually, Ruby, I was wondering whether the Mayor had ordered something different these past few days," she said in a serious, strictly-business tone. Ruby straightened, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. _Think, Ruby. Anything at all. _

"Now that you mention it, she's been ordering Mary Margaret's usual lately. She never said anything…just ordered a coffee with two sugars, except there was no cream. Sometimes I expected her to order a hot chocolate with—"

"With extra cinnamon. Yeah, I got it," Emma concluded, frowning. The cinnamon would have easily covered up any irregular taste in the drink, as would the sugary richness of the coffee. No cream…but of course there wouldn't be. Cream could dilute the ingredients in the drink, including whatever mixture Regina added. Plus, if she was actually using real flecks of gold, like Mary Margaret thought, it would appear sprinkled on the cream.

Emma felt a stone drop into her stomach.

"Right. Did Regina ever order two drinks?" Ruby shook her head, her red-streaked hair whirling from side to side.

"Nope. It was just the one. I figured she was switching tastes. You know, taking a leaf out of Mary Margaret's book or something. It doesn't happen often with these people…but you never know. The Mayor can be unpredictable."

_Yeah, she can be. Unpredictable enough to spike Mary Margaret's drink with poison and smirk while listening to my medical jargon. And she was probably laughing inside, because she knew what was wrong with Mary Margaret. It was why she was so confident House would fail. _

There was just one last thing Emma needed to know.

"Ruby, did Regina ever take a sip? Did you see her drink the coffee before she left?" There was a pause, but Emma already knew what the answer would be.

"No, she never drank it. The Mayor just took it and walked out." That was exactly as Emma had feared. _She never drank it. She left the diner, poisoned it, and brought it to Mary Margaret. _

"Um, is everything alright? What's going on?" Ruby was curious, but she was also notorious for being the town gossip. Emma needed to keep these suspicions as quiet as possible. The last thing she wanted was Regina knowing she was putting the pieces together.

Which was also why Emma needed to catch her today. Sooner or later, Regina was going to find out that Mary Margaret was better, which would mean they'd found out the problem. She'd asked House's team to keep the diagnosis under wraps as long as possible. After that, any chance of accusing Regina would fly out the window.

"Sorry, Ruby. I can't share that information right now," she reluctantly told the waitress. Despite her tendency to gossip, Ruby meant well. She was a friend of Mary Margaret's and was obviously concerned.

Emma smiled reassuringly before striding out of the diner, the remaining portion of the chloride in her pocket. She had asked House for it before leaving the hospital, instinctively sensing she would need it. And House had surprisingly given it to her without argument. _It's time to get Regina. No matter how powerful she is, I'm not letting her get away with this. _

"That's the second time someone's walked out in a daze. Maybe there's something in the coffee," Ruby sighed and returned to work.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Dun, dun, dun! Emma's going after Regina…how many of you would like to see Regina arrested? <strong>_

_**I hope you all enjoyed it! Until next time, then! **_


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Well, about another chapter or two and I think this story will reach its end. But for now, enjoy the chapter. (-; **

**Chapter 27**

Emma strode up the walk leading to Regina's house, mentally preparing for the confrontation that was to come next. Before she knocked, she slipped out the vial of stannous chloride and was about to empty the rest of it on her hands. Then, she paused, thinking.

How the hell was she going to get Regina to shake hands or touch her long enough to allow the chloride to soak in? That would only make Regina suspicious. No, she needed to rely on a different tactic.

Instead of knocking on the door, Emma traveled around the house and located Regina's beloved apple tree. Walking straight up to it, she picked a fresh apple off the tree, probably a sister to the one that poisoned Mary Margaret. Emma didn't eat it—instead, she poured the chloride over the apple.

"Miss Swan? What do you think you're doing in my yard?" Regina came rushing out in a whirling fury, as if Emma were chopping another limb off the tree. Gradually she turned to face the Mayor.

"Thought I heard a strange noise and I decided to check it out," she lied, tossing the apple back and forth until the extra liquid dried. Regina eyed the apple.

"Well, I can assure you there's nothing out of the ordinary. What are you doing with one of my apples?" Emma shrugged, keeping her face composed.

"I got hungry," she replied, lifting the apple to her lips. Emma kept the apple an inch or so away from her skin and after a second she lowered the apple again. "Here, Regina. You can have it back."

Regina stared down at it with suspicion before taking it out of Emma's hands. This was actually a good time for Regina to be suspicious—it ensured that she wouldn't eat the apple and that she would hang on to it, probably intending to test it later to see what Emma may have done to it. Probably, if Emma weren't about to take her down.

_Snap, trap, shut, _Emma thought as Regina gripped the apple.

"Just because you're the Sheriff does not mean you're granted access to my apples!" Regina swooped in, lips pulled into a grimace. "I suggest you leave."

Emma barely flinched—to her, Regina was hardly imposing. Just a more sophisticated version of a bully, mostly.

"Actually, I have some news about Mary Margaret. I thought now would be a good time to talk with you for a few minutes," she said, careful not to imply that there was knowledge of a diagnosis. She had to wait until the chloride kicked in.

Regina blanched for a second. Regaining her composure, she immediately hid behind her famous controlled mask.

"Very well. We can talk in my office...Sheriff," she acquiesced coolly, still holding the apple. Good. Emma followed her to her office, praying that Regina wasn't the type to obsessively wash her hands.

Regina's office was like her own personal throne room. The mayor settled into the chair behind her desk like a queen would claim her throne and glared at Emma as though she were a pathetic peasant wasting her time.

"Well?" Regina snapped, cupping the apple in her palm. Emma preferred to stand, leaning over the desk.

"_Well, _Madame Mayor, you should be relieved to know that Mary Margaret is recovering," she stated. Regina laid the apple on her desk, but it was too late. Emma noticed something that Regina did not.

"Recovering? You actually mean to tell me that your useless doctors found the cause of her illness?" Regina had a false innocence in her tone—she was counting on the fact that Emma was unaware of the truth. Emma frowned.

"Wouldn't you know it? It seemed someone actually poisoned Mary Margaret. Ironically, with an apple. Why would that be?" Emma knocked the apple over, allowing it to roll into Regina's lap. The mayor's eyes stayed glued on Emma, those two orbs sparking with disgust.

"Just what are you implying, Miss Swan?" Emma stood to her full height, maintaining her calm. Oh, how she wanted to get in Regina's face, to demand why she would try to kill someone like Mary Margaret. _There is something not right about this woman. And she's lying through her perfect white teeth behind her fancy, impressive desk. _

"I'm not implying anything. It's simple fact. Why would someone poison an innocent, well-loved schoolteacher like Mary Margaret Blanchard?" Emma goaded Regina with words like "innocent", knowing that she was likely to argue. Indeed, Regina rested her elbows on the desk and pouted.

"Maybe someone had the idea that Ms. Blanchard is not as innocent as she seems. That, in fact, she's a cunning, deceptive monster hiding behind a pretty face. Or maybe...she's just greedy."

This last word Regina mumbled, averting her gaze from Emma's scrutinizing eyes. Emma's brow furrowed with puzzlement.

"Greedy?" Emma's mind raced, flashing back to that fateful morning. _Mary Margaret holding two apples...holding one out...biting one..._That was when it clicked. The one final piece she'd been missing. "That poisoned apple...it wasn't meant for Mary Margaret, was it? That apple...was meant for me."

Regina met Emma's eyes again and—damn her—there was a devious smirk on her red lips.

"As I said...she's greedy. Taking away everything that belongs to others. Simple fact."

"No, it's not. Why, Regina? Because I became Sheriff? Because I'm Henry's real mother? Because Graham chose me over you?" With every question, Regina's fingers tightened on the edge of the desk. Abruptly, she leaped to her feet, the apple rolling away only to be stopped by Emma's boot.

"Because you are destroying my happiness, Miss Swan!" Emma narrowed her eyes—at least Regina had admitted that much. The pieces fell together easily now.

"Except Mary Margaret was poisoned instead. And once you realized that, you no longer cared. You decided to run with it. Because Mary Margaret deserves to pay, too, right?" Regina's lips trembled and a dark madness existed in the depths of her black eyes. She came within an inch of Emma's face, sneering.

"She ruined my happiness first," Regina hissed. It was Emma's turn to smirk—this was going far better than she'd imagined it would.

"So you continued to poison her. You figured you might as well get your revenge," Emma surmised, shaking her head. Regina gave a dry laugh.

"Please. You have no proof it was me. Anyone could have walked up to my tree and picked an apple, just like you did, Sheriff," Regina told her. She actually felt secure in thinking Emma could not touch her. _Well, Madame Mayor, you're in for a rude awakening. _

"You're right. That is a possibility. Except for the fact that there's only one person in this town with purple fingers. You." Emma pointed to Regina's hands, which were blotchy with purple spots.

Regina's body grew stiff, eyes growing wide as she examined the smudges, turning her hands over and over hopelessly. A piercing coldness emanated from her as she looked to Emma again.

"What have you done to me?" Emma bent to retrieve the apple, shining it on her leather jacket. Regina stared at it in outright horror. _How the tables have turned. An apple can be a pretty effective weapon, huh? _

"Stannous chloride. Mixed with gold, it turns bright purple. Gold in her coffee—clever," Emma mocked her. _But not clever enough. _

Regina clenched her fists, but there was no hiding the purple spots that marked her as Mary Margaret's potential murderer. Emma smiled forcibly while Regina remained frozen in place.

"Thank you for admitting that much, by the way," Emma said as she unzipped her leather jacket. She was wired; every word Regina said caught on tape. "Now I do have proof. Which qualifies me to do this."

Without warning, Emma forced Regina to spin and shoved her against her desk. In a second, handcuffs encircled Regina's wrists, snapping tight with a metallic clink.

"Regina Mills, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Mary Margaret Blanchard." God, it felt good to say that. Regina struggled against the handcuffs as Emma escorted her to the door.

"Get your hands off me! You can't do this to me! I am the Mayor!" Regina protested, but Emma mostly blocked it out.

"Well, now you can be Mayor of a certain jail cell. Good news for you: you'll have company. Leroy's been drinking too much again and you know how he is when he's drunk. Whistling and cheap karaoke, 24-7."

* * *

><p>She remembers everything. Every touch, every smile, every moment of that other world. She's been locked up for 28 years, but she remembers everything. It must have been the cruelest torture she'd ever endured.<p>

Each day was a dull gray rendition of the one before it...and all she had were her memories, heart-wrenching as they were. Her favorite memory was the one where she kissed _him _sweetly. Her captor, her caretaker...her true love, she imagined.

Often she skipped over the horrible downward spiral that occurred just moments after that kiss—that part was painful. Instead she replayed that kiss over and over in her mind, the sensation of his lips as clear as if it had just happened. _And I am never going to see him again. _

That was what she was thinking when she registered the sound of footsteps in the hallway, mixed with the sharp tapping of a cane. Whoever was coming was not the Queen—the Queen did not use a cane.

Blinding light flowed into her cell as her door burst open. When was the last time that happened? _Perhaps I'm dreaming again. _

A man was standing there, dressed smartly in a suit, brown hair cascading along his sharply edged jaw. All she cared to notice were his rich brown eyes—brown eyes that at one point had been almost golden. As golden as the endless straw he magically spun.

She didn't know his name in this world, but she recalled his true name within a heartbeat, heard it whisper across her mind like a gentle wind. _Rumpelstiltskin..._

And at that same moment, his lips formed into a satisfied smile as he opened his mouth to speak. Just one word, in that lilting unmistakable voice of his.

"Belle."

As if a spell—or rather, a curse—had been broken, she found the energy to leap to her feet and raced into his arms, savoring the comfort of his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her. "Damn that Queen. You're safe. My Belle," he whispered into her ear, his fingers stroking her brown hair.

Cradling her head on his shoulder, Belle felt happier than she had in years. The nightmare was over. _Finally. _

* * *

><p><strong>Dun, dun, dun! I have put these two back together, as they should be. (-; And I feel a great confrontation coming up on OUAT. That last episode was very sad—I re-watched it today and it is still sad! <strong>

**I think there'll only be a couple more chapters for this (or maybe even just one...we'll have to see). Again, I am glad for the readers out there taking the time to read this story. Thank you, everyone! **


	28. Chapter 28

_**A/N: Well, this is kind of a short chapter for you, but I already have the next and last one written up. So, enjoy this one since this story is nearly over. **_

_**Chapter Twenty-Eight**_

_Snow…_

It was the only word in his mind as the seven dwarfs removed the lid of the glass coffin to reveal his true love, still as stone with her hands clasped above her heart. Her normally rosy skin was now alabaster white and cold to the touch. Cold as snow.

Would those soft lips never smile for him again? Would those sparkling emerald eyes never open and light up brilliantly with life? Would her sincere, soothing voice never whisper his name?

A precious tear slid from Prince Charming's ocean blue eyes as he gazed longingly down at his dear, delicate Snow White. _No matter where you go…I will always find you. _

_Now I've found you….and you are lost to me forever. _

He could almost convince his mind that she were sleeping soundly, that it would be but a moment before she peacefully awoke and buried herself safely in his embrace.

By an apple she was poisoned and now she was doomed to sleep eternally. Poisoned…by an apple red as blood. As red as her lips.

Unless…

It was quite a long-shot and yet….the love they shared was true love. True love could break any curse, no matter how powerful. There was only one way his Snow could be saved.

Slowly, Prince Charming knelt by the glass coffin, his eyes never faltering from his sleeping love. Leaning over, he closed his eyes, picturing Snow White as he best remembered her, so full of life. _Come back to me. _

And then he kissed her.

The dwarfs watched in awe as a shift in pressure circulated the clearing. Something was happening—the aura of magic was unmistakable.

Prince Charming poured his heart into that one kiss, as though he could in fact breathe life into the beautiful girl resting there. Miraculously, a rainbow of colors briefly swept through the clearing as the spell broke. As Snow White gasped for breath once more.

Jewel-like eyes fluttered open and she smiled upon recognizing her Prince Charming looming above her. Tears glimmered in Charming's eyes as he sighed in relief, a hand lovingly caressing her face, which was now becoming rosy again.

It was snowing. Crystalline sprinkles drifted from the skies, coating them with icy kisses.

"You found me," Snow breathed in wonder as she arose from the glass coffin, losing herself in Charming's warm, waiting arms. He cradled her, never wanting to release her again. _Snow…Snow…_

"I told you…I will always find you, Snow," he vowed to her softly, stroking the ebony waves of her hair. _I will never let you go, Snow. I will always find you. _

And then Charming delicately kissed her again amidst the snowflakes.

* * *

><p>The sunlight awoke Mary Margaret from a drowsy sleep. Sleep in which she'd actually been wearing a smile. There was no pain or nausea. The doctors even said she could very well go home today.<p>

"Mary Margaret," David's voice called to her gently from the side of her hospital bed. Oh, how she had missed him—even if it had only been a few hours. "I came back to check on you."

"David," she gasped, stretching out a hand to lightly touch his face. He knelt by the bed, his eyes sorrowful. "You didn't have to do that. I'm fine." David tentatively laid a hand over hers, holding it in place against his face.

"I also came to apologize. Kathryn, she's…" Mary Margaret frowned and dropped her hand. It was a reminder of how far apart they truly were. Would there always be a barrier between them?

"I know. Kathryn's your wife. You should…you should be with her," she stated shakily, glancing away at the window. Once again she could feel the tremors of her heart aching. A single tear rolled across her skin and soaked into the pillow. _And you chose her over me. How could I forget? _

David cupped her chin and urged her to look at him. She bit her lip as she waited for what he was inevitably going to say. _I'm sorry…it has to be this way…it's the honorable thing to do…_

"But I do not love her. After waking up from that coma, I'm not entirely sure about many things, but I know…I love _you, _Mary Margaret," he insisted. Her heart thudded and swelled inside her chest. Oh, how she wanted so desperately to believe in those three magical words right now. It just wasn't that simple. Life was never a fairy tale.

"David, you're only saying that because I was the one who found you," she whispered. David shook his head frantically, willing her to understand.

"I wish I could have saved you. I love you…and I don't ever want to think about losing you again," he said, gazing meaningfully into her green eyes. Mary Margaret smiled gently.

"I forgive you," she whispered to him and she meant it. If anything, he could have her forgiveness.

Something was happening then, something that neither one of them could rightfully explain. It was like a gravitational pull, encouraging them to become closer until their lips were only inches apart. And neither one made a move to prevent what was surely to happen next.

It was like fireworks as David's lips finally found Mary Margaret's petal-like soft ones. Everything seemed to stop, frozen in time. Every noise melted away until only the drumming of their beating hearts pounded through their ears. They lost themselves in each other's embrace, fitting perfectly together like two puzzle pieces. This…this felt right. As if they'd been waiting for each other.

When the kiss broke, Mary Margaret settled back on the pillow to gaze at the man before her. A light, as flickering as a candle flame, was burning in her mind. A joyful smile warmed her face with recognition, with thousands of memories that had been too precious to lose. Only one word escaped her lips, spoken with undying love.

"Charming." It all rushed back to her, all those memories—their first journey, the promise he'd made to her in another land, the poison apple, waking in a glass coffin to find him smiling down at her, the wedding, Emma…Every blessed second floated to the surface of her mind.

The tears flowed freely from her eyes now as her love dipped his head close to her, showering her forehead with kisses.

"Snow," he breathed in her ear. It had been twenty-eight years since he'd said her name. It danced on his tongue—he wanted to say it one million more times. "I told you I will always find you." And she knew it was true.

"Always," she gladly repeated as she kissed him again, her Prince Charming.

Outside, a fine layer of powdery white snowflakes rained down over Storybrooke.

* * *

><p><em><strong>I hope everyone enjoyed reading that. I also want to thank those that reviewed and took the time to read my story this far. Thank you, everyone!<strong>_

_**Gah! I cannot wait until tomorrow night's episode! **_


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Well, here's the final chapter. I've decided since it's already written up that I wouldn't wait to post it. So, I hope everyone enjoys it. And I want to thank those that have taken the time to read my story! The reviews were wonderful and I'm glad so many liked the crossover!**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

"Can you believe it's snowing this hard?" Chase muttered as he warmed his hands. The others shook their heads miserably.

Emma had managed to catch House's team just as they were leaving the hospital. All that was left for them was retrieving their belongings from Granny's and they were heading back to New Jersey.

"Leaving so soon?" Emma glanced at each of them in turn and was surprised to feel almost reluctant to say goodbye to them. It was a brutal reminder of the past she'd left behind a while ago.

"Time to head back to reality," Thirteen sighed, snuggling her coat tighter around her body. She dug out her car keys, swinging them on a finger.

"Mary Margaret is about ready for discharge. Just…tell her not to eat any more apples," Taub advised, getting in the car. "I call shotgun!" Emma brushed the snowflakes from her blonde hair.

"Yeah, well…Regina Mills is sitting in a jail cell, arrested for attempted murder. She's not going anywhere." _Thank God, _Emma thought. That woman had serious issues if she was poisoning a schoolteacher. And her son's schoolteacher, at that.

Chase paused near the car and pulled Emma aside. She eyed him suspiciously as he raked a hand through his sandy hair—he wanted to say something. _This should be good. _

"Look, I can't leave without making things right between us," he said. Taub stuck his head out the window.

"Can this wait until we reach Granny's Inn?" Thirteen scowled at him as she started the engine, revving it purposely to tell Chase to hurry up. Chase licked his lips and tried again.

"You were saying?" Emma motioned for him to continue. Chase whistled as he contemplated his next words.

"About Debala…I never meant…" He looked like he was going to have a mental breakdown as he struggled for the words to come. Emma placed a hand on his arm to stop him. _Don't hurt yourself, there. _

"I understand. It may have gone against my morals as a doctor…but it was your way of playing the hero in a depressing place," she mused. Chase breathed a sigh of relief. Emma inevitably smiled. "I forgive you."

"Wonderful. Now can the Aussie get in the car? It's freezing," Taub called out, redirecting their attention back to the car. Chase brushed a hand along Emma's arm and then climbed in, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Aussie? You're sounding a lot like House," Thirteen teased him, arching an eyebrow in speculation. Taub smoothed a hand across his forehead.

"I'm tired. It happens." Emma was about to head back into the hospital when another thought hit her. She rapped a knuckle against Taub's window to draw their attention again. "Yes?"

"Do you know where House is?" All three of the doctors exchanged wary looks and answered all at once.

"The diner." Chase opened the car door for her, sliding over in his seat to make room for her.

"Hop in."

* * *

><p>"You never give up, do you?" Emma approached House's booth, noticing the way his crystal blue eyes mentally undressed Ruby. The waitress flitted away, looking quite satisfied with herself. "What, are you going to take her home to Wilson?"<p>

House gave her a serious look and scoffed.

"Are you kidding? Wilson would never approve. You know how he is with his morals. Princeton-Plainsboro's own little Jiminy Cricket." _Not according to Henry, _Emma thought as she took the seat across from House.

"So…the Mayor was the one who poisoned Mary Margaret. I did a search of her house. Looks like it was a mixture of arthritis pills and…she was scraping gold off some valuable pieces of jewelry. Her own deadly concoction of gold. I don't even know what she has against Mary Margaret."

House didn't seem the least bit fazed by this information. He had figured there was something not right about the Mayor—she had seemed to have her insecurities.

"Explains why she wanted us gone so fast. I'll have to fire my ducklings for not being more observant." Emma crossed her arms.

"It also means someone will have to take custody of Henry, at least while Regina's in jail," she said. There was no question who that person would ultimately be. She wondered how she'd feel, caring solely for her biological son. House nodded.

"Aren't you just a ray of sunshine, looking on the bright side," he commented, just as his food appeared. A ham sandwich, a side of chips, and a soda in one of those old glass coke bottles. Emma waited for Ruby to move away before voicing her main concern.

"You know, after we…slept together," she leaned forward to whisper. There was no need for everyone in the diner to hear. House copied her gesture, making a show of checking over his shoulder.

"Yeah? What about _us sleeping together?" _House raised his voice on the last three words, making every head in the diner turn. Emma buried her head in her hands, staving off anger. _Typical House. Would it kill you to take this seriously for once? _

"Really, House?" He just shrugged with an innocent expression on his face. "As I was saying…I started to remember a night ten years ago. It was in a bar and I slept with a stranger. Nine months later I had Henry."

House stared blankly at her as he chewed. He knew what was coming next. The only reason he didn't try to avoid it was because he didn't think he could reach the diner door very fast.

"What's your point?" Emma rested her arms on the table and waited for House to look straight into her eyes.

"I finally remembered it. That stranger was Henry's father. That stranger…was you," she breathed in a mixture of wonder and sadness. House laid his sandwich down and glanced uneasily out the window. She wanted to scream at him. _House, didn't you hear what I said? Didn't you hear me? Henry is your son!_

"Henry…that kid is nothing like me," House insisted, shaking it off as if Emma had just informed him it was 2012. It grinded against her nerves and she glared at him.

"House, he _is _your son. Sure, he has my green eyes and my sense of honor. Have you ever seen him piece something together? Like when he's flipping through that book?" House stared silently; she didn't even know if he was listening to her words. "Henry is stubborn. That kid's not afraid of anything. And you know what? It isn't just about believing in a magical world or reading fairy tales. To him, it's a puzzle. And ever since I came here he's been doing what you do best, House. Henry solves puzzles."

House's body grew tense—he had been listening, even though he tried not to show it. Emma shot forward, her hands gripping House's desperately. If not for her, then she just wanted him to understand for Henry's sake.

"House…he is your son," she insisted, eyes wide. "And that kid needs someone now. He doesn't just need his mother, because that I can give him. He needs a father." House suddenly turned his head back to her, as if waking from a startling daydream. He shook his hands free of Emma's.

"I want you to come back…to work for me," House abruptly proposed, taking Emma by surprise. She settled back in her seat, thinking.

She would've liked to take Henry away from here, to work as a doctor again in Princeton-Plainsboro…but at the same time, she knew Henry would not be happy with that idea. And if Henry was staying here in Storybrooke, then—

"I'm sorry, House. I'm staying here. I'm staying here with my son," she declared with finality. House frowned as that sank in. He seemed disappointed, as if he had gotten his hopes up that she would accept his offer. "Besides, you've got Thirteen, Foreman, Chase, and Taub. That's enough."

House was quiet a long moment. And then he nodded solemnly.

"I thought so, Cameron," he sighed, shoving his plate away. Apparently, his appetite was ruined.

"How many times have I told you to call me by my real name?"

House got to his feet, grabbing his cane. He shrugged and went as far as to lay a steady hand on her shoulder. It reminded her of that time when she'd been crying in the hospital's chapel, when she'd refused to assist House in ending a patient's life. _I'm proud of you, _he'd told her. Was he proud of her now, for what she was doing for her son?

"You'll always be Cameron to me." House squeezed her shoulder deliberately and she released a ragged gasp. He started to walk away, but snapped his fingers like he had just remembered something. "This might interest you." House dug out a slender object from inside his jacket and handed it to her.

Emma eyed it curiously and set it on the table. It was wrapped in a dishcloth, whatever it was. Slowly, she peeled back the cloth to reveal a strange-looking dagger with a jagged blade. But that wasn't the oddest part of it.

It was what was written on the blade that made her heart skip a beat. Her fingers traced over the smooth black letters. _Rumpelstiltskin…._

Emma whirled in her seat to ask House where he'd gotten it, but he was already gone.

* * *

><p>House stepped into the snow and moaned as he saw his breath fog up in the air. This icy weather was going to kill his leg. God forbid if he found himself limping over a sheet of ice. The diner door opened and he casually moved aside to let whoever it was pass.<p>

"Dr. House?" He turned to see that idiotic doctor—what was his name? Oh, right…_Moby Dick—_staring at him. House grumbled under his breath. What did _he _want? Anyway, there was no pinning it on Chase this time.

"If you're here to hug me goodbye, you'll be speaking through a mouth full of cane. Fair warning," he said, holding up his cane for emphasis. Dr. Whale eyed it cautiously.

"Um, no. That's not it. I couldn't help overhearing—"

"You mean eavesdropping," House corrected sharply. Dr. Whale nodded frantically. He averted his gaze nervously, scanning over everything but House. "I'm guessing somewhere around the time it became clear I slept with her."

"Right. If you want, I could…I could pull some strings at the hospital and get you a good job," he suggested, gazing almost sympathetically at House. For a moment, there was nothing but the snowy wind to fill the silence. House narrowed his eyes.

"And why would you do that, exactly?" Dr. Whale seemed exasperated by House's questioning. He shrugged dully and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"It would give you a chance to be with your son," Whale pointed out, a frown creasing his lips.

House suddenly pieced it together—this offer was stemming from guilt. Whale was obviously guilty about the tragedy that had occurred with Mary Margaret's miscarriage and this was a way for him to ease his conscience. Oh, if only Wilson were here to see this; he'd probably pat him on the back.

"Doing something good for someone else's son is not going to bring yours back. You're trying to find some way to fix it, but some broken things can't be fixed. It was a miscarriage—" Whale held up his hands in surrender, his body growing stiff. It was more from the displeasure of having these notions shoved in his face than the cold.

"I know. Maybe if I do this for Emma and Henry…maybe it'll clear away some of the things I've done to Mary Margaret," he said, confirming House's theory. Just then, the door to the inn flew open and his team came trudging along the walk. Time to go.

"Come on, House. It's cold and we're leaving," Chase called out as the team got assembled inside the car. House glanced at it and then back at Whale.

"It'll give you a chance to be there for Henry," Whale murmured to him. House's mind spun. He could easily get in that car, drive with his team back to New Jersey and the life he knew there. But life hadn't been so good lately.

Or, he could choose to stay with Henry, act as the father that he never had himself. A kid growing up without a father….well, it was tough. And then there was Cameron and the fact that he could very well have another shot with her. For the first time in a while, House had woken up happy, being beside Cameron.

"House, hurry up," Thirteen brought him back to reality, honking the horn. House made up his mind then and approached the car. Instead of getting in, he knocked on Thirteen's window and she rolled it down further so as to hear what he had to say.

House fidgeted with his cane—these kinds of moments he just wasn't good with handling.

"Alright, ducklings…you can go on without me," he said. Thirteen's face blanched and Chase exclaimed in surprise from the back seat. Taub leaned forward across the seat to peer through Thirteen's window.

"House, are you serious? This isn't the time for jokes. Get in," he said, motioning to the back seat. House shook his head, stepping away from the car.

"I'm staying. Foreman's already practically your boss, so you'll still keep your jobs. Just…tell Wilson…never mind, he'll understand. He'll probably call me later to gloat, but he'll understand," House said. And then he walked away with Dr. Whale and he was actually wearing a smile.

* * *

><p>Emma found him at his castle, sheltered underneath the wooden roof while he scanned the pages of his leather-bound book, face scrunched in concentration. She watched him for a moment as he pored over a line in the book and then quickly sifted through for something else. <em>You see, House? Henry does like solving puzzles. <em>

What surprised her most was the pencil caught in his hand—henry was twirling it effortlessly through his fingers. It was the same thing House often did with his cane while he was deep in thought.

"What're you reading about today?" Emma climbed the rickety steps of the "castle" and brushed the snow off the ledge in order to sit down beside him. Henry glanced up, his face brightening. He dropped the pencil beside him.

"Just…coming up with some new theories. I'm trying to figure out who created the curse because I don't think it was the Queen," he said, flipping madly through the colorful illustrations. "I just can't find anything about someone making the curse."

Emma shrugged and remembered the dagger, which was rubbing against her chest from inside her leather jacket. She would show it to him, but there were more important matters now. Like Regina, who was sitting in a jail cell and listening to a drunken Leroy singing.

"Evil Queen or not…she poisoned Mary Margaret. You know what that means, right?" Henry paused in re-reading a piece of Snow White's story—ironically, it was the exact moment the Queen tempted Snow White with the apple. He gazed up at her, nodding.

"It means she really is the Evil Queen. It doesn't bother her because she's already tried it before…see? Only this time she was really trying to kill Snow White," Henry blurted out, tapping the page in front of him. Emma folded her hands in her lap and sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"Henry, I mean do you understand what's going to happen now? Now that your adoptive mother is in custody for attempted murder?" Henry bit his lip and nodded again. His little fingers curled tightly around the book.

"It means someone else has to take care of me, especially if she's guilty. Which she is," he mumbled, staring off at the rolling waves of the ocean and further, to the town's clock with its working hands. Emma gently rubbed a hand across his back for comfort.

"What would you say…if I took care of you? If you could stay with me?" Henry's head shot up and his eyes widened with joy. He looked like she just told him it was Christmas Day. The book nearly fell out of his hands.

"That would be great! I could live with you and we could figure out Operation Cobra and the Evil Queen would finally lose…" Henry rambled on and Emma laughed softly. She would take that as a "yes." She supposed it was a good time to lay that other piece of news on him.

"Oh, kid…House gave this to me. I don't know where he found it, but I think you'll be interested in it," she hinted, pulling the dagger out from her leather jacket. Henry allowed her to place it in his palms so he could stare down at it. His eyes bugged as he mouthed the word written on the blade.

_"Rumpelstiltskin," _he whispered in wonder, running a finger over the black letters. Emma took the dagger back before Henry hurt himself with it. "But…he's not even in my book! Maybe he's someone powerful like…like…" Realization dawned on his face and he grabbed onto Emma's arm. "Like Mr. Gold!"

Emma's face contorted with doubt. Of all the theories, she'd been most intrigued to hear about this one.

"You think Mr. Gold is Rumpelstiltskin?" Henry nodded frantically, a smile stretching across his face.

"He is, I know he is! It explains why he wanted Ashley's baby and why he makes so many deals. I'll bet he was the one who created the curse, too!" Emma shook her head wistfully as Henry eagerly put the pieces together in his mind.

"Yeah, I guess so. Another question answered, right?" Henry suddenly glanced up at her with longing and worry. She would've given anything to put that bright smile back on his face. _The kid is certainly growing on me. I'd do anything for him now. _

"So, you're staying, right? You'll help me break this curse?" Emma pulled Henry in for a warm hug and rubbed the top of his head. She nestled her cheek in his hair and—for the first time—truly felt like his mother.

"Yeah, kid, I am. I'm here for you," she assured him, closing her eyes to savor this gentle moment. At last, she gradually leaned back. Perhaps it was for the sake of her son's fantasy, or perhaps there was some deeper understanding inside her that resulted in her next words. "So, how do we break this curse?"

Henry smiled and began flipping through his book again.

* * *

><p><em>Someone kill me now,<em> Regina Mills bitterly mused as she sat stiffly in the jail cell, beside a drunken Leroy. Her lips were pulled into a fierce pout and her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. Her eyes stared dead ahead as she struggled to block out the incessant, infuriating singing. _Stupid dwarf. _

"_Ain't no sunshine when she's gone….it ain't warm when she's away…ain't no sunshine when she's gone…" _Leroy leisurely sprawled across his cot, his head lolling against the wall. Regina's nails dug into her palms—she was going to really commit murder pretty soon. _"Sweeeeet Caroline…bum, bum, bum…"_

"Will you shut up with that horrible singing?" She snapped at him, her lips curling in a sneer. Leroy dully raised his head, his glassy eyes finding her in the next cell. _Ruby should really consider banning Leroy from the diner. He's no use to anyone when drunk, least of all me. _

"No way, sister. This is my happy ending," he slurred, a lazy grin creeping across his grizzly beard. Regina groaned as he opened his mouth again and hopelessly started another song that would never make it within one hundred feet of _American Idol. _

_"'Cause the party don't start 'til I walk in…" _

* * *

><p><strong>The End. <strong>

**I've decided not to detail the whole "breaking of the curse" bit. I'll leave that to speculation and countless**** theories out there. **

**Poor Regina, having to sit there listening to Leroy. (-; I hope everyone who is reading this enjoyed it and I am so glad that you took the time to read it. **

**Le gasp! Only two more episodes for both of these wonderful shows! **

**Okay, so I haven't really been watching House that much this season, but I've heard plenty of things about what's supposedly coming up. Particularly about Wilson and his…diagnosis (don't want to say much because of spoilers). Say it isn't so! /= No, Wilson! **

**Anyway, thank you all for reading! **

**Feel free to check out some of my other OUAT stories as well—I'm currently working on a couple of them. **


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